


Yes, Sir

by UptownGirl



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Master/Servant, Multi, Prostitution
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-08
Updated: 2014-04-12
Packaged: 2018-01-11 15:40:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 71,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1174827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UptownGirl/pseuds/UptownGirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Horrible was a word that Harry had used to describe the situation that he was in at present. There many other words that he could use; nasty, dreadful, awful, appalling, they were all sufficient. But when Harry thought about it all in his head, horrible was the word that seemed to describe it best.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Drunken laughter and clinking wine glasses filled the foyer of the extravagant house. Fingertips brushed sweaty bodies subtly yet seductively. “Friends” shared the latest gossip on other “friends”, making the tension in the air all but lessen. Not that it was a bother anyway to anyone. Hell, it was even a boost in your chances of getting what you wanted from that girl in the corner, trying (and failing) to not spill the world's most expensive champagne on her blood red, sparkling dress.

“Another round!”

“Did you hear what Mary and Ashley did?”

“Who hasn’t?”

“But what about Christy? I hear she fell off of a horse from having an anxiety attack.”

“Wouldn’t be surprised.”

All were mere rumors and drunken talk, though none of them were above another enough to admit it. Besides, it just made things more exhilarating, more scandalous, more…fun. And it was all nothing money couldn’t buy, figuratively and literally. So why pass the time with real, genuine conversation?

Louis William Tomlinson, possibly the richest bastard in London, had no shame in his little parties. He saw them all as great fun and just another chance to be “horizontally pleasured” by the prize he had been seeking for the past few months. It was all a game to him anyhow. If he lost, he could simply restart; not restart from the beginning, per se, but at least at a lower rung on the social ladder, then simply building himself back up again. However, in any case, losing was not an issue for him. He essentially (or so he assumed) had everything he could have ever wanted in the palm of his hand.

“Harry!” the drunken aristocrat slurred. And so brings on another plus: he had the most submissive and obeying servant in all of London. Servant, not slave, mind you. His submissiveness was quite handy, as his protest to orders was never voiced. Sure, he was pretty easy on the eyes as well, standing at about six feet tall with endless legs and torso, topped with a mess of chocolate curls and moss green eyes to match.

The young lad walked in with as much poise as possible, though his master would never notice his mentally documented order of stance at this point in intoxication anyway. His fatigued eyes darted around the room of inebriated people, watching some of there eyes scan him in return. It was no secret that he was attractive to most people who laid eyes on him, though he never thought it as anything different than what everybody else faced. Then his gaze fell upon mister Tomlinson, who at this point was half sitting up, dangling an empty glass in his hand and a young woman with bones for arms and blond curls atop her heart-shaped head sitting on his lap as if she was telling him what she wanted for Christmas. That is, if Santa suddenly became an alcohol induced snob with his unusually small hands all over the begging child.

“Yes, sir?” Harry asked properly, yet his insides were screaming at him that he sounded much too proper to be speaking to someone in a state as this. Though what would it matter anyway?

“Do you see this?” Louis questioned, holding up his glass.

“I do indeed, sir,” he answered, wishing that a roll of his eyes would go unnoticed.

“Well do you see what’s wrong with this picture?” he drunkenly giggles at his allusion to child’s play. The tramp on his lap laughed along with him, making everyone else burst into a fit of amusement. It wasn’t even that funny, but Harry just assumes that the alcohol is surely doing its job.

“Well, Styles? Are you just going to stand there like the illiterate swine that you are or make yourself useful? This glass isn’t going to fill itself.”

Harry completely disregards the harsh words of his master, obviously used to them at this point and fills the glass with Pinot Grigio. Handing it back to Louis, Harry takes everyone else’s and does the same. Some give him a tap on his rump in thanks, expecting a snarky comment or look, but only receiving a facetious smile. He escorts himself out of the room, holding onto the empty bottle and little dignity he has left.

“You know, he’s a rather a good looking lad,” one lass next to the stone fireplace comments, even though assuming that said "lad" was still in ear shot.

Louis just huffs in response, trying to disregard the subject of his servant. He knew that most women who stopped by (and there were many) found Harry at least a little attractive, and it bothered him. They were there for his party (and maybe a little extra on the side), not for his hospitality.

“Definitely,” responded one in a black silk dress, dark brown hair falling down her shoulders and past her slightly prominent bust.

“Whatever, El. All I know is that you are looking quite nice this evening,” Louis tries to flirt with a knowing smirk on his cleanly shaven face.

“Definitely ‘all you know’,” she back-chats with the same smirk. This was common for these two. They had known each other for years since they met at one of Louis’ firms downtown. She was the simple secretary and he just happened to be stopping by to check up on things. She thought he was attractive, but not enough to be found in the same bed as him the next morning. Louis on the other hand, he was thinking the exact opposite. He had a thing for her, and he wasn’t afraid to show it. It was more than just a thing, anyway. Sure he slept with some of the most gorgeous and gaunt women in the U.K., but he was determined to add the sweet and innocent Eleanor Calder to that list.

“Whatever,” he mutters again, not being able to think of another remark and taking another sip of his wine.

At the sound of Louis's voice going down, Harry slightly leans his head into the room, trying to look as inconspicuous as possible. He watched as his master raised his glass up to his thin lips, the bitter liquid pouring down his throat. As a nearly translucent drop escapes, he sees that no one takes a notice to the older man's fumbling and losing of his ambitions. He wasn’t sure how he felt about him. Louis gave him a job, as well as a place to stay. He doesn’t have to worry about purchasing his own meals anymore, nor does he need to worry about some other things as well. However, he needed to purchase his own clothes and hygiene products in order to stay presentable to Louis’s “colleagues”, among a few other things that are not needed to be voiced.

But he still knew he had to stay. It was his duty to do so. He could not just leave when he knew that there would be a horribly hung-over Louis the next morning in bed with no one to care for him. The thought made him ache, though he knew not why. It would be nice to other people to know that ignorant jerks who flaunt their riches like everyone doesn't know already are sick in bed without anyone to make them feel better, yet that's not Harry's case.

“I wouldn’t mind if you leant me him for a day,” one of the women seductively suggests to Louis, whom barely looked interested at all in anything that was going on.

“Sorry, babe. He’s mine and mine only.”

Harry backed into the kitchen, tossing the empty bottle into the bin and twisting the top on the fifth one that night.

He’s mine and mine only.

Oh, if only he knew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this our first work on AO3, so please bear with us. Maybe you'll like it, I don't know.
> 
> The chapters will get longer I promise; this is just an intro


	2. Chapter 2

As the bottles of wine emptied, so did the mansion. At around two in the morning, the final guest was putting her coat on. Harry had been frantically checking his watch, knowing that him being late would be detrimental, but tried not to make it look like he was nervous. He tossed the last of the dry bottles away while he listened to his-way past-drunken master begging his long-time crush to “stay for a while”.

“Oh come on, El, just a few more minutes. I have something for you if you stay.”

“Lou, I’m not staying. I have to be at the office at 9 o’clock tomorrow and don’t want to be late. I’m already expecting a massive hangover to take over anyhow.”

“But you barely had a sip! You know you want to.”

“Oh trust me, I really don’t.”

Pathetic, Harry thought to himself. He poked his head into the atrium, seeing Louis practically on his knees, clutching one of Eleanor’s dainty hands in his. He continued to beg (and lose his balance) until she had to forcefully pull him off of her. He stumbled to the hardwood floor with a thud, looking up in slight sadness when the door is slammed in his face. Harry looked on in confusion, not used to seeing his master with actual genuine hurt in his face, which, that's new.

Harry then remembered back to when at one point during the party, Louis was in the toilet and talk about him erupted in the living room. Rather than scoffing and turning away from more bitter gossip, Harry decided to lock his hearing onto their conversation.

“I swear, he gets more and more pathetic everyday.”

“Oh come now, he’s a heavy-worked man. It’s got to take a toll on him.”

“Bullshit, he’s practically a walking basket case. Only a matter of time before his face is front page in the paper, a wanted ad out for his murderer who left his lifeless drunken ass in an alley. Doubt that anybody would want justice served for him anyhow.”

“Oh you hold your tongue. He’s loved by so many!”

“Really? Name five people who would miss his disgusting presence on this sinful Earth.”

“Well I-I-“

“Exactly.”

“But he hasn’t always been like that, has he?”

“Like what?”

“You know, like a sleazy pervert who throws his wealth around like he’s the bloody queen.”

“Oh definitely not. Before this all came around, hell, even in the first few years of his fame, he was one of the kindest, most generous, most talented men I had ever had the pleasure of meeting.”

“Then what happened?”

“Well, he basically found out that he could pretty much do anything he could have ever wanted, if the law permitted. Ha, even the law doesn’t hold him back anymore. He could buy the whole damn police force if he really wanted to.”

“But he was a great man at one point?”

“Oh yes, one of the greatest.”

Harry snapped out of his, still shocking, flashback as he heard Louis stumbling on the stairs. He let out a scoff, coming back to the reality that is his master. He may have been a kind man at one point of his ruined yet extravagant life, but that Louis was long gone by now.

Harry quickly walked to the stairs, grabbing Louis’s arm and pulling it over his shoulders. Harry’s other hand found Louis’s waist as he hoisted him up to his bedroom. He had to hold in a gag at the scent of burning alcohol falling out of his master’s mouth. The smell had always come to affect him extremely negatively, making him refuse a so-called “pleasurable” beverage any time it was offered to him.

“Right bitch, she is,” he sloppily muttered.

“You really think she is?”

“Of course! Why else would she deny me, of all people, for a night of pleasure?”

Harry shivered and grimaced at the thought of the dirty sheets and clothes he’d have to clean in the morning. Not to mention the screaming and the banging of a headboard he would have to block out as he tried to get some sort of sleep.

Harry liked Eleanor. Not in a romantic way, but in a way that he knew that she was trustworthy. She never (at least he had known) went after Louis’s wealth. She was also almost always the one to defend him. She knew of his kind nature. She had seen it at one point in her life, and she wanted to see it again. Also, Eleanor treated Harry with some sort of respect. Multiple times, when she was over, he would catch her eye, her sending him a look of sympathy, not that he asked for it nor wanted it.

She was also one of the only girls in all of England who not sleep with him at the drop of a hat. She had some self-respect, which Harry loved, and Louis claimed to hate, though they both knew that that was another reason Louis just had to have her. He always wanted what he couldn’t have.

“I don’t know, sir. Eleanor seems like a lovely girl.”

“Oh shut up, what do you know?”

Harry kept his mouth shut after that, not wanting to anger him (or himself for that matter) any more. Instead, he hobbled up the steps with Louis, tripping a few times. They finally reached the top after what seemed like hours.

“Alright, sir, off with the shirt and tie.”

Louis rolled his eyes, but obeyed anyway. After fumbling with his tie for about thirty seconds, Harry took pity (or became bored) and untied it for him, ignoring the light cursing coming from the older man’s odorous mouth. Tossing the tie onto his dresser, he moved to the buttons on Louis’s shirt. Figuring that Louis could handle the rest, Harry went over to the closet and pulled out a pair of flannels and an old Oxford t-shirt. However, when he turned back, Louis was pulling himself into bed in just his boxers, completely ignoring the fact that it was freezing in the house. Harry huffed in annoyance, but went over to his bedside anyway. He pulled up the covers and gently placed them onto Louis’s bare shoulders.

“G’night, sir,” Harry whispered.

Louis grumbled in response and turned on his side, back facing Harry. Sighing exasperatedly, Harry checked his watch, seeing that with the time it will take him to get downtown, he might be late. He closed Louis’s door behind him, already hearing snores. He threw off his nicer clothes and changed into an old sweatshirt and jeans, not wanting to appear slightly well-to-do (and possibly not wanting to be recognized). Giving his curls a toss, he ran outside, but not before locking the front door and putting in the pass code.

Out in the driveway sat his black Porsche, the one that Louis thought was “outdated” and gifted to him instead. Harry checked his surroundings to make sure no stragglers of the party were still around (possibly passed out drunk on the lawn, which had happened on more than one occasion). Seeing that there were not, he hopped in and put the keys into the ignition, hot air enveloping his shivering body, which he didn’t even notice. He figured he was just shaking from nerves of not being punctual.

The car ride downtown was quiet, the radio not being touched. Harry didn’t like being distracted; he had to have his full attention on the task at hand. (Though he did enjoy taking in the gorgeous late-night London scenery from time to time.) But, soon enough, he was pulling his car into a hotel parking lot. Before stepping out, he opened his glove compartment and pulled out his taser gun, just in case. It was needed before when he did not have it, and things became ugly.

And with that thought in mind, Harry stepped out of his vehicle, keeping his head down a bit. Pulling his hood over his mess of curls, he stalked to the back of the hotel, standing just outside the back entrance. His back fell against the brick wall as he moved his sweatshirt from his wrist and checked the time. He had gotten there on schedule, even making it with a few minutes to spare.

He was going to light up a cigarette, but was snapped out of it by the sound of heavy footsteps approaching him. His eyes scanned the pitch black area, finding a medium heighted figure coming his way. His build was not very impressive, but it was still enough to break a bone if things did not go his way.

“Are you Styles?” a raspy voice croaked out.

“Yes.”

“Well, you look nice, don’t you, curly? Come on, step forward. I want to see what I’m dealing with.”

Harry didn’t respond, but only walked up to the man with poise and concentration, not trying to act intimidated. If he showed fear, things could be taken out of his grasp.

“My friends told me about you. Apparently you’re one of the best. Well, if you want to get paid, that better be true. I’m a hard working man who needs to let off some steam, and you look just perfect for that.”

Harry nodded, “I’ve been told so. Wife?”

The man laughed in response. “Yeah, but the bitch has been driving me up the wall. Not to mention she’s been a slug in bed. So, I wanted to try something different. I told my buddies the same thing, and that’s where your name came up. Said you’ve got quite the reputation in this area.”

The man was now face-to-face with Harry, stroking his cheek with his rough thumb.

“Sounds just about right.”

“Alright well, enough with the small talk. My hotel room’s up top.”

Harry nodded and followed suit.

“Yes, sir.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This sort of sounds like Les Miserables.


	3. Chapter 3

It was about eleven the next morning when Louis finally prised open his eyes, a groan exiting his chapped and split lips. Every morning after a party, he told himself never again, but it was only a matter of time before party fever hit Louis like a truck, inviting guests over like there was no tomorrow with the promises of alcohol and a good time. Well, Louis nearly always ended up having a 'good time', if you understood what that really meant.

His first instinct was to vomit after he had sat up, the sickly taste of bile sliding up his throat, though he forced himself to sit up and take a deep gulp of air. It calmed both his flaming stomach and pounding head slightly, though Louis still felt sick to his core. Light was pouring in almost too harshly through the blinds on his window, and Louis flopped back down onto the mattress again. Soon he registered that he was only in a pair of boxers, the duvet sticking to his clammy yet bare legs and torso, and Louis couldn't remember why on earth he had even contemplated going to sleep without anything else on. Vaguely he remembered that he'd pretty much just collapsed into bed last night, someone pulling up the covers so he was sufficiently warm. And that someone had been Harry.

"Harry?" Louis croaked out, and almost instantly, the brown haired boy opened the door. He looked prim and proper, his attire of what Louis had ordered him to dress in around the house. This was what happened every morning after a party, Harry would be left to nurse Louis back to health, making sure he had enough food and water to keep himself well.

"Yes, sir?" The formal question was met by a pair of eyes as Louis sat up, the nausea taking over his whole body once again.

"Remind me next time never to drink that much alcohol again." Louis groaned as Harry took another step into the room, shutting his master's door behind him.

"I always do, but you disregard it." It was true, when Louis wasn't hung over he was a complete ass.

"I'll make a note to listen to you next time then Styles." Again, Louis usually referred to Harry as Styles, though occasionally 'Harry' would slip his tongue. It was the same with Harry, he sometimes accidentally called Louis by his name instead of sir or Mr. Tomlinson. When he did, he often received a sharp glare and a shake of the head, but nothing more. Even though Louis could be horrible to him, he definitely wasn't like that.

Harry bit his tongue, refusing himself the pleasure of engaging in more banter and arguing back playfully. Instead he went over to the window and pulled the string of the blinds, Louis almost hissing as the sunshine evaded his room and eyes.

"God, shut them again, this hangover really is getting the better of me." Louis growled, and Harry obliged.

"As you wish. Do you know what's happening today in terms of events?" Harry prompted, knowing that his master wouldn't have any idea. Just as he'd guessed, Louis shook his head, flopping down once again, head burying into the pillow. Harry knew his master's calender pretty much off by heart, every schedule was slotted into his brain.

"No, no idea. I don't want to do anything." He sounded like a small child who was refusing to go to school, and Harry wanted to laugh at how pathetic he sounded, "Why? Am I meant to be doing something today, Styles?"

"You're meant to be attending a meeting at one of your firms downtown, sir."

"Call them and say that I'm not going." Louis ordered and Harry walked over to the dresser, folding several clean shirts that were scattered around and placing them in the drawer. Even if Louis didn't want to go, Harry needed him to get out of the house, he needed to be at his client's location this evening, and Louis's meeting had been the only hope that he'd be able to escape. Harry didn't reply, and sensed that Louis was waiting for a reply. So he spoke up, filling the air with noise

"I don't really have the authority to do that, sir-" Harry was interrupted harshly as the sound of Louis climbing out of bed caught his attention.

"Just do it. Tell them some bullshit, I'm not going Styles." He knew it was not his job to worry, but Harry worried all the same. Louis was constantly missing meetings, important meetings that affected the future of his company, though instead he remained focused on the fact that parties and alcohol were the most important things on his list. As he'd said, he wasn't meant to worry, it wasn't his career that was suffering through bad decisions.

This job was not really what Harry was proud to call his career, though he did so anyway. It was the only way that he could cover up his dark secret that absolutely no one knew. From an early age, Harry had held the concept that his family weren't the most well off people around, money was tight and food was limited. His mother, her name Anne, would constantly cry and Harry would be the only one around to look after her. His father had left at an age that Harry was too young to even remember what he looked like, so had lived his life through the understanding that he did not have a father. He did, however, have another sibling, an older sister that went by the name of Gemma. Three years older than him, Harry had always looked up to her for advice and attention, and that meant that they were still close despite their age now. It was also part of the reason why Harry had resorted to working here.

The first chance he'd gotten at the age of sixteen, Harry had found himself a job. His family needed the money desperately. It had mainly been Gemma that needed it, but that was a different story in its self entirely that was due to be told another time. On his sixteenth birthday, Harry had applied for several positions, only one accepting him, and he'd worked vigilantly. Soon, word had gotten out about his work ethic, and soon enough he'd found himself working for one of the most self-conceited, rich, rude bastards Harry had ever had the pleasure of meeting. Exactly how he'd come into contact with Louis was yet again, another story, one that was hardly ever spoken of. Harry was well-payed, not surprising due to the fact that Louis had money almost spilling from his ears, though Harry had always thought that that wasn't enough to provide his family with the wages he needed. So he'd turned to selling himself.

Harry disguised himself nearly every night and hid in the shadows, lurking around and selling himself to people that might as well have been strangers. He didn't really wish to know them, he only had sex for the money because the pay was so damn high. He hadn't told anyone about his risky night-time shenanigans, all he said to his mother was that Louis had raised his pay and that he was working well for his master. But that couldn't be further from the truth.

He majored in male prostitution more than sleeping with females. There wasn't as much enjoyment from sleeping with women for Harry, but he didn't necessarily enjoy any of it to be honest. Rules were what bound his services, and he always made sure that each and every client was aware of them. The first rule was to do with recognition. It was always the first thing that Harry stated. If someone happened to recognize him outside of his working hours, they were bound to secrecy. They were not to approach him, nor were they to point him out to anyone else. They had to make sure that they treated him like a normal person they had never seen in their life.

The second rule was that they were not to try and control him during the 'session'. If he said no, then it was a no. Even though prostitution was exploitation, Harry still had his personal boundaries, ones that he was determined not to break. He didn't really want to go into any more detail than that, and there were a few other tiny rules that didn't need addressing as often. Harry had kept that part of his dark yet well-paid life a mystery so far to everyone, and that was how it would stay.

"What are you daydreaming about?" Louis snapped Harry out of his thoughts, and the younger boy stood upright, fatigue rippling down his spine though he remained rigid.

"Nothing, sir."

"Sure as hell seems like there was something, I was talking to you and realised that you weren't listening." Louis snapped, and Harry wanted to roll his eyes. The shitty and bitchy side of Louis was returning quickly, faster than Harry had intended it to.

"Sorry, sir." Louis stalked past him, and Harry noticed that he had put on a shirt and jeans now, definitely decided that he wouldn't be going to the meeting that Harry had been relying on as his get-away, "Do you want anything to eat?"

"No Styles, just leave me be. Tidy the house or do something instead of standing there with your mouth hung open like an uneducated peccary."

There he was. There was the Louis that Harry had been employed by. And he just wished that maybe this side of Louis wouldn't pay a visit as often as he did.


	4. Chapter 4

It was always a chore, cleaning up Louis's room, Harry thought. It was also mildly disgusting; even though Harry cleaned it at least twice a week, Louis always managed to make it as dirty as he possibly could. Once or twice, Harry had even found women's underwear under the bed or slung over the chair, resulting in having to throw them away. It wouldn't hurt Louis to be slightly more tidier, but then Harry wouldn't have a job if he was, so he wasn't going to complain any time soon.

Louis was still refusing point blank to go to his meeting, though somehow was feeling well enough to invite someone over to watch a soccer game that was on TV, or as they called it, football. The worrying feeling that he wouldn't be able to get out tonight was consuming his whole mind. He needed to go to this client this evening, but unless Louis and his guest left the house, then there would be no chance. He knew from past experiences that cancelling on a customer or maybe even just not turning up really made things messy.

"Styles, down here now!" Louis's voice pierced the house despite it's large size, and Harry withheld a sigh. It wasn't as if he was being forced into staying here, yet he did so anyway, plus he felt like if he did leave, his master would be helpless. Louis couldn't even make baked beans on toast without something going wrong for heaven's sake. Relying on Harry for a cooked meal every evening was what he did best.

"Yes, sir?" Harry walked to the top of the stairs, leaning slightly over the banister so he could see his master. A smirk was spread across Louis's face and Harry dreaded to think why.

"Come downstairs please, you can clean my room tomorrow."

Harry obliged, taking the steps of the stairs two at a time. It was much faster and, because he had unusually long legs, a lot quicker.

"You remember Niall don't you, Styles?" Louis sneered as Harry entered the living area, his master stood next to a shortish blonde male. The question was a pretty stupid one, of course he remembered Niall. Who would forget someone that practically made it out like they hated him?

"Of course."

"Of course, what?" Louis smirked and Harry ran a hand through his hair.

"Of course sir."

"There we go, you do remember what you are to address me as then." Louis was really being an ass, and all the while Niall was ready to jeer at Harry.

In the earlier months of Harry's employment, he had devised three categories that people fit into. The first were the people like Niall; rude and snotty. Treated everyone like they were lower than themselves, even if they weren't higher up in social status. They were the people that Harry tried to steer clear from, the people that constantly ordered him around like he was a well-trained dog. Louis often fit into this category also when he was in his spiteful and smug phase, the side of Louis that Harry didn't really enjoy being around. But he had to put up with him because otherwise he wouldn't get paid, and then would have to turn fully to prostitution. That was something he really didn't wish to do anytime soon.

The second group of people were the ones that Harry didn't mind being around. People like Eleanor and one of Louis's other friends, Liam. Harry couldn't really grasp the concept of why Liam had ever chosen to be friends with Louis because as he was concerned, Liam and Louis were polar opposites in terms of personality. These type of people weren't afraid to engage in conversation with Harry, treated him equally and also smiled at him from time to time. He couldn't ever recall Louis being like that. Not ever.

And the last group of people were the people that didn't really take an interest in anything that Harry did, and just seemed to fawn over Louis like he was the last rays of sunshine on an apocalyptic earth. There weren't many people that seemed to fit into the third category of people, though Harry had met a few of them. Infatuated with Louis, completely obsessed with everything he did. It hurt Harry to realise exactly why they did it; the money.

"Make dinner, and then you can have the rest of the night off." Louis ordered, and Harry shook his head, not really understanding.

"Night off?"

"Yeah, go watch TV or something, I don't know what the hell you want to do in your free time?" Louis went over to the sofa, Niall following, "Not like you can go into town, you don't have any friends."

"Unless you want to go to the cinema on your own like a complete loner." Niall snickered, and Louis laughed too. Gosh, how Harry hated Niall.

"Get us a beer?" Louis asked, though it seemed more like an order than a simple query.

"Yes, sir." Harry retreated to the kitchen, pulling out two bottles of alcohol for Louis and Niall (he wasn't exactly sure why Louis was drinking again if he had such a bad hangover), walking into the living room and handing them to the two men. Expecting no thanks, Harry walked back to the kitchen, thinking through everything.

Even though Louis had given him the night off after making dinner, Harry knew that he wouldn't be permitted to leave the house. Sure, Louis had joked about it, but he was expected not to leave. Harry usually only scheduled clients when he knew Louis would be out or asleep. Never did he promise something and not follow it through.

As he prepared Niall and Louis's meal, the thought that he was going to have to cancel seemed to just remain the most prominent thought in his brain. So much so that at one point he wasn't concentrating and burnt his hand on a hot pan, profanities tumbling from his mouth as he ran his hand under the cold tap.

"You alright?" Niall's Irish tone rang through the kitchen and Harry looked up hesitantly.

"Just burnt myself, nothing major."

"Well, Louis sent me to say that you need to hurry up with the dinner."

"Tell him five more minutes." Harry promised as Niall opened the fridge and grabbed two more beers.

"Alright Styles." Niall stalked off out of the kitchen and Harry frowned to himself. What had just happened? That had probably been the most civil conversation Harry had ever held with Niall, not that they'd really spoken before. It was also the first time they'd spoken without Louis watching on, and maybe that had contributed to the fact that Niall had actually been slightly nicer? Harry laughed. He'd only been sent in for more alcohol and to demand the food be prepared quicker. It wasn't as if he'd come in to check that Harry was alright.

No more than five minutes later, Harry was carrying two plates of food out to Louis and Niall to eat from their place on the sofa. The smell of it was making him hungry also, and he almost thanked himself that he'd made enough for himself to eat also.

"Thanks Styles." Niall nodded as he began to eat, shoveling a forkful of food into his mouth quickly. A sigh of appreciation was all Harry received in terms of spoken thanks, Louis just eating the food and not speaking to his servant. Harry began to walk away, though Louis cleared his throat loudly.

"Now that Niall and I have thought about it, we've considered going out somewhere in about thirty minutes." Hope gleamed through Harry's body. Louis and Niall were actually leaving later? It was 9.48pm now, that meant they'd leave about 10.15pm 15 minutes later than he should be at his client's location.

"Okay sir. Will you be expecting company tonight when you return?" Harry replied politely, his stomach growling with both anticipation and hunger. If Louis brought a companion home, he'd be home a lot earlier than if he wasn't.

"Probably not. Just clean up my room in case though, Styles. Then do whatever you want for the rest of the evening."

Anything he wanted? Harry knew exactly what he was going to be doing with his time.

 

\-----

 

Louis and Niall had left later than they had originally announced, which had made Harry all the more nervous. His client this evening wasn't the most forgiving guy around, Harry had provided services for him once before. As soon as the front door had closed behind Louis and Niall, Harry had frantically changed out of his normal attire and thrown on his ratty hoodie and skin tight jeans. Phase one of his plan.

Looking in the mirror, he realised exactly how tired his skin looked. His eyes were the only thing that seemed to shine, his most distinct feature, which made him pull his hood up over his mess of hair. No one could find out who he really was. No one whatsoever.

The drive to the small motel that his client was staying at seemed to take longer than Harry had thought it would. A simple 10 minute drive turned into one that resembled closer to 15, and it panicked Harry. He liked things smooth, well planned, organized. Prostitution wasn't really any of those three things anyway, so he couldn't complain.

Parking his car, Harry jumped out of it and into the confinements of the shadows. They helped to conceal his face from anybody who happened to pass by (the number of passers-by was low, this was such a dingy motel that no one wanted to stay here out of choice), so Harry was safer in the knowledge that he wouldn't be outed.

Taking cautious steps towards the back passage of the motel, Harry squinted to see a figure at the end of the small alleyway. Instantly he recognised the broad build of his client, the faint illumination of a dim light showing the multiple tattoos that lined his arms and neck. A cigarette was held between his fingers, which made Harry crave the sweet burn of nicotine in his stomach, but he withheld it. A frown had descended upon the broad man's face, and Harry knew he was not best pleased.

"You're a half hour late." The man pointed out as Harry came within speaking distance, "I was 'bout ready to get back to my room."

"And I apologise for that." His voice sounded meeker than it had in his head and he cleared his throat.

"Good." The client's voice was gruff and he tossed the used cigarette to the ground, the glowing embers quashed as his large booted foot smashed it to a pulp, "You're only getting half pay tonight." Harry was too tired to argue, so he nodded. Half pay for this 90 minute session probably equated to what Louis would pay him over four days, so he just accepted it.

Expecting to just follow his client through the back door of the motel, Harry was startled when a strong grip was planted on his wrist. it hurt, and he yelped in pain. The client smirked, looking at him with dark eyes.

"You're gonna be doing more than yelping after I'm done with you, pretty boy. You got that?"

Again, Harry nodded. He was too exhausted to fight this. His rules were still in tact. For now, anyway.


	5. Chapter 5

The only thing that woke up Louis the next morning was the sound of the phone ringing through the house. He was not necessarily hung over, but he was still not a morning person. As the ringing went through his ears, he cursed at his furniture and covered his face with a pillow. Yet another day that he did not feel up to working, but how was that different from any other day? 

The ringing goes silent as Harry finally reaches it. He was in the midst of making breakfast when it started. Wincing as he pulls it up to his ear, he tries his hardest to sound alert.

“Tomlinson house, this is Harry Styles.”

“Harry? It’s Eleanor.”

Harry instantly became nervous at her rushed tone. Eleanor did not usually call the house, and if she did, it was not in the morning.

"Yes, ma'am?"

Harry instantly relaxed when he hears her laugh through the phone.

"Harry, how many times do I have to tell you, call me Eleanor, or even El. You may be Louis's servant, but I consider you a friend. You're more of a friend to me than Louis is anyway."

"Oh, Miss Calder, don't say that. You two have been through so much together. There's no way you can feel that way about him." Harry rubbed his neck nervously, trying to keep alive his hope of Eleanor falling for his master.

"Oh but, Mister Styles, that's where you're wrong. But, enough of the small talk, I called for a reason."

"Yes, ma'am?"

"Well, I need to speak with Louis for important matters."

"Oh well, I'll go give sir the ph-"

"Oh no, this has to be in person. Can you tell him for me?"

"Of course, Miss Calder. Is there a specific time?"

"I'll be over in about an hour. Thank you, Harry."

"You are very welcome, miss."

Harry placed the phone down gently, trying to pick out the right words to say. He knew that the second Eleanor’s name left his mouth and into Louis’s ears, he would be working his ass of for the next hour making the house spotless (even if you couldn’t find a speck of dust anyway).

He heard the ceiling creaking above him, signifying life was finally rising in the house. Exhaling deeply, Harry went back to finish the sausage and eggs that just may calm down his master a bit. He obviously wouldn’t have time to eat himself, but that was okay considering the comments about his “lessening” muscle at his last few sessions. Well he hasn’t necessarily had time for his morning work outs recently anyway, but he was in no right to complain or talk back.

“Styles!”

Letting out a groan of frustration and irritation, Harry jogs up the stairs, skipping every other step, as usual. He makes it to Louis’s room, only to find him sprawled out on his bed with a hand covering his eyes.

“Yes, sir?”

“Will you close that damn window? How many times do I have to tell you that?”

Harry muttered a ‘sorry’ in response and moved to close the blinds, blocking the only sunlight going into the darkly painted room.

“And who the hell was calling so bloody damn early?” If you would call 9 o’clock early.

“Oh, uh, well, sir, um-“

“Will you stop stuttering like an idiot and tell me?!”

Harry paused a moment and looked at his master with a slight smirk (but not too much because he would probably be fired for demonstrating any sense of disobedience), knowing that the information he contained will put the older man into a fit of worry like a teenage girl and her high school crush.

“Eleanor, sir. She has something important that she needs to speak with you about.”

Louis’s eyes nearly fall out of his sockets at how wide he opened them. That’s probably the widest they’ve ever been at this time of day, Harry thought to himself.

“And you waited this long to tell me?! The phone rang ten minutes ago! When will she be over?”

“A little less than an hour, sir.”

“What?! Ugh, you are so fucking worthless! Go make sure this house is perfect. I want every corner of this house dusted and swept! I want every piece of lint plucked from the carpet! I am going to go get a shower. If this house is not exactly how I want it when I come out, I’m going to beat your ass.”

And with that, Louis stomped his angry feet to his private bathroom and slammed the door behind him. Harry did not even flinch at his words, but followed his master’s words. Without hesitation, he cleaned whatever mess in the house he could. There weren’t many, so it was not difficult to finish.

Louis had been in this livid state before. It was not out of the ordinary for him to threaten Harry like that. They both knew that he would not ever lay a finger on him, but would maybe reduce his pay for a week. That was really the only extent his punishments would go to, but it was enough.

The same thing had happened when Harry had asked for a raise a few months back. Louis simply reacted terribly and instead of increasing the poor lad’s pay, he nearly cut it in half. And that’s when it all went downhill for the curly haired lad. There was no way in hell he could reach his weekly quota for his failing family, and he simply took up his other horrid profession.

Of course, Louis raised his pay back a few weeks later, not being able to keep a steady pay away from the hard working boy. He knew that his work was quite valuable, so he did not want to deprive him too much. Plus, Louis nearly had money coming out of his ears, so it wasn’t much of a dent.

Louis William Tomlinson, CEO and president of Tomlinson & Associates in London. He was destined for greatness since primary school, no one could deny that. High marks came naturally, along with his kind nature and delicate charm. The educational system almost had difficulty keeping up with the young lad’s level of unprecedented expertise. And not only that, but he was also the quintessence of building up. Louis was not poor, nor was he particularly wealthy growing up. His family was strictly middle class, his father being a simple businessman and his mother a primary school teacher. So he was, what appeared to be, a miracle child.

He built himself from almost the very bottom of the barrel, to the peaks of success. And with what his astounding academic performances were illustrating, it wasn’t much of a shock that he took up the impressive college major of law at Oxford. It suited quite well really. He was not only a scholar, but quite a connoisseur in the arts of argument. So it was almost as if he didn’t take up the occupation, but that the occupation took up him.

He started out small, which he was most famous for, at a simple firm in a newly built skyscraper. However, his fame (and riches) grew increasingly fast, and next thing he new, he had buildings with his name on them across the city and country. His handsome face was even seen on television ads for his company on the occasion, only bringing in more substantial success. And it wasn’t long before all of this went to his head.

Sure, Mr. Tomlinson was a force to be reckoned with, but everyone who had met him had loved him from the start. He had the charm that could win anything, case or not. He had the generosity that his family had taught him. He had the wealth that people (not so) secretly pawed after.

Then, it was all parties, liquor and sex after that. Of course he still held a firm grasp on his place in business, but it was starting to slip out of that grasp through his small fingers. And he knew it too, though he refused to admit to it. He was one of the most powerful men in all of London, so what could he lose? A few bank notes? A billboard or two? Water under the bridge eventually anyway.

“Styles, is she here yet?” Louis called over the spiral stair railing, hair combed up and a fumbling tie in his hands.

Does it look like she’s here, Harry thought to himself. “No, sir. Not yet.”

“Good. Is the house spotless yet? Or are you still stuck in your own dismal, pathetic thoughts?”

“Tis finished, sir. Not a speck went wi-“

“Yeah, yeah. Just be at least slightly presentable when she comes to the door.” And with that, Louis was out of sight once again.

Harry went to the kitchen, not worrying about his attire since he was ready anyway, as usual. He fished through the cabinet and retrieved the bottle of ibuprofen. His entire body had been sore since he left his, rather impatient, client last night. He had made it home just in time for Louis to pull up into the driveway, too concerned with his own problems to notice his servant’s car still radiating heat. Nor was he attentive enough to see the slight limp that occurred each step for the poor lad. Of course not, he had his own issues to worry about, like sleep.

Harry downed four pills, one extra than the recommended amount for someone his age, with a tall glass of tap water. His lower region was in the most agony, his firm bottom nearly screaming when it sat on any chair. But what did it matter really? Eleanor was coming to the house for God’s sake. What else could possibly be more important?

Now upstairs, Louis was shuffling around for the nicest tie to match his nicest shoes. The one he had previously just wasn’t enough, apparently. He really knew that he probably would never have a chance with the brunette beauty; he had known for quite some time. It wasn’t that she was too good for him, nobody was. But she had made it clear that she was not looking for a so-called “good time” on multiple occasions.

He hated her strong nature. It was the one thing that was keeping them apart. If she wasn’t so sure of herself, then there would be no difficulty in reeling her in. He didn’t quite understand it, either. After all, Louis was rich, smart, good looking, charming (now to an extent) and all around a much sought out person. What more could she want?

Nobody knew why Louis just simply would not give up on Eleanor. They were all so used to seeing him picking up the latest bimbo in town and then watching her do the walk of shame out of the mansion with a new wad of bills in her Gucci purse. Why was Eleanor so different? What made her so unique that Louis just had to have her?

It was because he couldn’t. The fact that he could not have her at all sent him into a frenzy of lust and jealousy. She just wanted to be friends, but there were no such things to Mr. Tomlinson, only associates and hook-ups. And since the young woman was neither of those, Louis refused to let her be.

“Mr. Tomlinson, sir?”

“Yes, Styles, you may open the door,” he replied with a gruff tone.

Harry shuffled in, looking prim as usual. “Ms. Calder’s taxi has just arrived.”

Louis’s palms then began to sweat. “Well then hurry up and be at the door when she gets here. I don’t want her waiting. Go!”

Harry only replied by turning around rather ungracefully and hobbling down to the front door, wondering what it would be like to have someone want everything perfect for him. As if that was a possibility for someone like him, who was still confused on who he was.

The doorbell rang, sending a harmonious chime throughout the house. His large hand gently wrapped around the handle, pulling it and revealing an unhappy face, but brightening when his face came into view.

“Good morning, Harry. How are you?” Eleanor pulled him into a rather uncomfortable hug, sending shoots of pain up his spine. But he straightened up when she pulled away, flashing her a smile, dimples showing and everything.

“Just fine, miss. May I take your coat?”

Her face contorted into a slight frown, confusing Harry and worrying him about what he did wrong.

“Is there a problem, Ms. Calder?”

“You may take my coat if…you call me Eleanor. If you do not, I will hang it up myself.”

Harry grew even more uncomfortable, but thought it was best to comply rather than dealing with shit from his master for not hanging up the young woman’s coat.

“Of course, E-Eleanor,” he slightly stumbled, but it did not seem like she had noticed considering the smile that was once again on her unblemished face.

“Much better.”

The floor creaked from upstairs, and a head poked out from the railing with a bright smile.

“Ah, Eleanor. So nice of you to stop by. May I interest you in beverage of some sort?” Louis stepped downstairs with poise, neatly shoving his hands in the pockets of his Jack Wills denims. His pale blue sleeves were rolled into cuffs on his elbows and his dark blue tie draped down his torso. His Italian penny-loafers made a light noise on the cream carpeted stairs.

“No that’s quite alright, Lou,” she replied monotonously, “I came here for business, not leisure.”

“Yes, but I could at least be a good host and have Styles fetch you a glass of wine or, if it’s too early for that, a steaming mug of coffee.”

“That’s quite alright. Harry, you don’t have to get me a thing.”

“Yes, Miss Calder.”

Eleanor gave him another slightly annoyed look, but her face was soft. She quickly diverted her attention back to the task at hand when she realized that Louis was looking between her and Harry suspiciously.

“C’mon, Louis, let’s go to your office. This is important.”

“Fine, fine.”

And Harry watched as Louis gave him a warning glance, though he didn’t know what for, and as the door was closed in front of him.


	6. Chapter 6

Half an hour had passed and Louis and Eleanor still hadn't done talking. Try as he must, Harry had resisted the urge to listen at the door of the study, but he didn't. Temptation was not something he was prone to giving in to easily, it was part of his personality, a trait that he took pride in. There was no room in the house that wasn't tidy, as soon as Louis and Eleanor had exited into the study he'd gone to clean his master's room which had been pretty tidy already. Probably Louis had frantically cleaned it in the hope that maybe Eleanor would want to stay for even more of a 'good time'.

It disgusted Harry that Louis was so desperate for the one female that denied him, but he couldn't really talk in that subject field. Even though the talking points were pretty different, Harry still had sex for money, so he couldn't really judge Louis on his desperate pleas.

So Harry settled on going into the lounge and watching some television. He wasn't really sure whether he was allowed to do so or not, but he figured that Louis really wouldn't care less considering that he was pawing over a beautiful woman within the restrictions of his own home. Turning on the TV, he saw that there was limited choice, so he decided instead to go to his own room and read.

Harry was intelligent, his sense of perceiving words through text really was one of pure talent. If he could've, Harry would have happily become part of a publishing company, but that really wasn't on his list of options. Applying for a job at one of the big names in book publishers would take at least a month, and when he'd been desperate for money, he really hadn't had that amount of time. Instead he was here with Louis, catering to his every whim, obliging to every order. Keeping secrets too; massive secrets that Louis would never find out as long as he lived. It would ruin his career (if you could call both prostitution and slavery, professions) and his whole life if Louis found out about it.

No one knew, only the clients. Not his mother, not Gemma, not Louis. Definitely not Louis.

"Styles! Get your ass down here now!" Harry heard as he was just about to get off the sofa to go to his room. Soon after the tone of Louis had rung through the house, a softer one followed.

"Louis, I know he's your employee, but you needn't shout at Harry like that. He deserves respect."

"You sound like his mother, Eleanor. He's just a servant." Just a servant? If only he knew.

"I do not, I just sound like I'm actually providing him with some appreciation, Louis. Maybe you should try it some time instead of being such a jerk."

"Now now, I don't think someone with such a pretty face should be using words like that, hey? Why don't you have a glass of wine, settle your stomach and your mine. Whatcha say?"

"I could say so much more right now Louis. And no, I'm not staying, I have to go. I have work to do, just like you do considering what I've just told you. Get your act together."

Suddenly the two appeared in the lounge, Harry wide eyed as he took in the conversation. He knew that Eleanor respected him more than anyone else Louis had over, but never so much that she would be willing to stick up for him to Louis. If anything, he knew that Louis would soon have ago at him over whether or not Harry and Eleanor had planned something. They definitely hadn't, that was for sure. She was just a kind person, someone that had the decency to see that he didn't deserve to be spoken to like complete shit.

"Thank you for making me feel welcome Harry." Eleanor smiled as Louis watched on, completely fuming.

"Let me just get your coat, Miss Cal--" He stopped himself when she shot a harsh look at him, remembering her previous request, "Sorry, Eleanor." Louis let out a small grunt of disapproval at the name, and Eleanor whipped around, looking straight at him as Harry left the room to retrieve her coat.

"Don't you dare. I said that he could call me that, don't comment on it."

"I've trained him not to call people by their first names, El."

"Trained? Trained?! He's not a dog Louis!"

Harry interrupted their conversation, walking back into the room, Eleanor's coat in hand. As soon as he had, Louis grunted and mumbled his words.

"Show Eleanor out please Styles."

"Yes, sir."

Louis left, grumbling as he left, Eleanor following her boss with a harsh stare. That was one thing both her and Harry shared in common; they shared the same boss and they both knew equally how much of an ass he really was. Maybe Harry more than Eleanor but nonetheless, they both knew.

"I apologise for him, Harry."

"Don't, I choose to stay here, I could leave if I wanted."

"But, could you really?" Eleanor asked, taking her coat from Harry. The words stung, the reality of them so real. Harry really didn't want to know, though, she he tried to forget and just shook them off.

"I'm sorry that he's in a bad mood, he wasn't expecting your visit, miss."

"It'll do him good, he needs to learn that not everything goes perfectly. Surprises will do him good, it'll teach him a lesson, Harry." She smiled, and then her face lit up, "Oh, I nearly forgot! I have some more case papers for Louis, tell him that he needs to file them. No major ones, one case of theft, one of a speeding ticket that was apparently not given to the right person, and one of damage to someone's vehicle. He needs to file them and choose which he wants each firm to take on. Can you tell him that? And then get him to email me about it when he's made his choices." Harry nodded, and Eleanor beamed, digging in her handbag for a thick wad of sheets, each colour coded at the top, God, she was well organized.

"I'll give them to him straight away. Again, I'm sorry for his behaviour."

"Don't apologize on his behalf Harry. He needs to learn he's not the princess of everything some time soon, right?" Eleanor laughed as she handed him the papers which made Harry smile. It wasn't often he heard her laughing, usually she was scowling at Louis's rude remarks and vulgar language so it was a nice change, "Thank you though Harry, there's no need for you to show me out. I can do it myself." Her thin arms suddenly took him by surprise, giving him a swift hug goodbye and a kiss on the cheek. Then she was gone, the front door shutting swiftly. The noise had obviously been heard by Louis and he poked his head around the doorway to the lounge, a scowl on his face.

"I thought I instructed you to show her out? Not let her find the door on her own." He frowned, and Harry shuffled the papers in his hands absentmindedly, "Well? You going to say anything?"

"Miss Calder assured me that she would find the door on her own." He mumbled and Louis rolled his eyes.

"I'm paying an illiterate swine. That reminds me, I need you to clean my office today. If I'm going to be having more of these sporadic meetings then it needs to be prim and proper. It's a shit hole in there at present."

Harry looked up at his master, almost in awe. He was letting him clean the study?

Never had Harry been allowed to spend more than five minutes in Louis's office, and that was when Louis had been in the room of course. It was if Louis was hiding a massive secret in there, one that nobody could find out, and Harry wasn't allowed to clean in there in fear that he'd find it. How ironic, now he came to think about it.

"I have some work to do, but I can do it upstairs in my room." Louis informed him, arms folded, "What are you holding?"

"Just some papers that Miss Calder told me to pass on to you." Harry said, and Louis took them quickly. Eyes scanning over them, he looked at each individually, "She said that you needed to choose which firms were to back up each of the individual cases and then email her your decision."

"Oh, alright." It was Louis's turn to mumble, maybe Harry was being helpful after all. He always was, but Louis rarely acknowledged his efforts, "Would you be able to just put them on my desk and I'll work on them later? I have to sort out this problem Eleanor left me with."

"Am I allowed to enquire what that may be?" Harry cursed himself; he shouldn't have asked, he really shouldn't have. Expecting Louis to disregard him, he looked at his shoes, hands in pockets.

"Just one of our major court cases was lost, the client wasn't happy with our services that we provided to him. That's what the meeting yesterday was about apparently." Harry was more than surprised at the information, Louis had actually decided to speak civilly to him. Maybe Eleanor was doing him some good.

"Oh, I hope you can sort it out then sir. If you excuse me, I have work to do." He thought about how much of an idiot he really sounded in the presence of Louis, his colloquial language was so different to what it usually was. His accent was usually one of Northern English descent, he originated from a small town called Holmes Chapel. It was just off of the border of Wales in a county of Cheshire, and although it was small, Harry still was proud to call it home.

"By all means. I'm not going out tonight, so I was thinking of maybe ordering some takeaway. I'd order you some too, it'd just mean you don't have to cook dinner, the tidying of the study is gonna be a big effort." Wait, what the fuck? Where had Louis gone? It was like the self-conceited, bastard side of Louis had exited out the door when Eleanor had left, "Is that alright with you, Harry?" Fucking hell, this was weird. Now he was being called Harry.

"Sounds fine, sir. Thank you." Harry had nothing to do this evening, no 'appointments' of any sort, so he was free to do whatever. He'd probably end up reading upstairs in his room or something to be honest.

"Off to work then, off you go!" Louis suppressed a smile, his facial features twitching as he attempted to hide it. Handing Harry back the court papers, he quickly bustled off to the direction of the study, entered it, and then slammed the door after him. If that hadn't been the definition of weird, he didn't know what was any more.

Seeing as this was the first time Harry had really been in Louis's study, he got the chance to study it. First of all, he put the court papers on the already cluttered desk and then marvelled in the awesomely open room. This surely had to be one of the biggest rooms in the whole house, but Louis was hardly ever in it and Harry had never really noticed before, so it was an interesting thing to finally realize.

The walls were a pretty cream colour, slightly faded, yet pretty nonetheless. One of the walls held a large bay window, obviously once painted a shade of dark brown but it had started to chip and peel away, plus there was so much clutter lining the seat within the window that someone could easily mistake it for a shelf on the wall somehow. Under the massive piles of ataxia, Harry could see a couple of small cushions, both a minty green colour that were supposedly originated to stand against the window to make for a comfier seating arrangement. He could imagine himself sat there, an old and worn book in his hands, eyes continuously scanning the pages with growing interest, falling deeper and deeper into a fictional world. This was Louis's study, that wouldn't happen.

A corner desk was nestled neatly into the far right niche of the room. Dark mahogany in both colour and wood choice, it was one that you would expect the stereotypical business man to have. Small and messy filing cabinets sat upon its surface, the drawers jutting out messily and annoyingly, paper spilling out of each layer. Binders scattered the professional looking desk chair as well as the large workspace, obviously the many files that Harry was expected to put the court papers in. It was slightly reassuring that each of the folders held a label on its binding's, reading the name of the many firms Louis had as well as categorizing the different levels of case that Louis's business dealt with; minor and major. Harry had a feeling that this organisation was down to Eleanor and not his master.

What interested Harry the most was a small picture that was hung up on the wall, the boy taking the frame off of the wall to get a closer look at it. Clearing the chair, he sat down, the plush leather of the furniture making him sink into it. It was soothing to Harry's aching body, the reminder of last night still painfully overshadowing. Ignoring the pain, he looked at the photo, almost shocked when he recognised some of the faces within it.

There, fresh faced and young in the middle of the photo, stood none other than Louis Tomlinson. He looked no older than about 15, a broad smile plastered upon his lips, eyes lit up despite the fact that this picture was only a very quick snapshot of the past. To his left stood a woman that Harry recognised as Jay, Louis's mother. Briefly they'd been introduced to one another, but it had been exceptionally quickly and Harry had not gotten more than a word in edgeways when they'd conversed. Louis had wanted to get his relative away from Harry as fast as he could, or that was how it seemed.

Both seemed happy, and it was then that Harry saw that in the photo, Louis was holding a small trophy of some sort. To begin with, Harry had thought that it was normal for Louis to be in a sports kit, but now it had registered that obviously the picture had been taken just after Louis had won some sort of sports game. He guessed it was something like rugby or football (or soccer, he'd never understood why American's didn't call it football too), the boots that the boy was wearing in the snapshot told that much.

But what struck Harry was the smile, The bright, genuine smile that was stuck upon Louis's face as he beamed to whoever the photo taker was, his mother replicating the expression. It was one that Harry had never seen in real life; an expression that Louis had obviously not made for years and years.

That saddened Harry, Louis should be able to smile like that everyday. He had so much, didn't he? Money, girls, a massive house, everything. What was there that was stopping Louis from smiling? He didn't know, and Harry resolved that he wouldn't ever find out. Even though he had asked a question earlier and Louis had actually replied with sincerity and respect, it didn't mean it would happen any time soon. It was probably the after effects of Eleanor, the concomitant of her pretty presence.

Hanging the photo back up, Harry decided that he would pretend that he hadn't even seen the photo in the first place. If he hadn't seen it, then there wasn't anything to question, so therefore he tried to erase it from his mind. Putting it straight, the frame perpendicular, Harry turned away from it and into the mess that was the massive study. A large bookcase lined one of the walls as well, (although he'd processed that it had been there, he hadn't given it a second thought), and it was intriguing. They were probably all just business books; 'How To Expand Your Business Within 24 Months' and 'Starting Small, Ending Empire' were undoubtedly what he expected to see on the shelves. 

Inspecting closer, Harry saw that there were indeed those rip off, false hope kind of books, but mingled within them lay some of the classics that Harry had read so many times. 'Brave New World', 'Of Mice and Men', 'A Tale of Two Cities', they were all there. There were also some of the books that people had begun to dub as the modern classics, 'The Fault In Our Stars', 'The Husband's Secret' and so many of the 'Alex Cross' books. Harry hadn't read them, but he'd heard of them. Hands itching to take the ever famous John Greene novel and read it, Harry stopped himself; if he finished this job of cleaning maybe he could ask Louis to borrow it later. Or maybe not, depending on his master's mood.

So he then set to work. For at least five hours, Harry tidied, humming multiple songs to himself. It wasn't often that he liked any of the music that was in the charts, he was quite picky when it came to music choice. It didn't really matter anyway, it wasn't as if he had an iPod or anything to put it onto. He did have the money, of course, but every single spare penny of his wages went to helping his mother and Gemma.

Therefore the five hours did go quite slowly, but when Harry was finished, he thought he'd done a good job. The bay window was clear of paperwork and other miscellaneous crap, he'd filed all the loose paper also (apart from the court papers that Eleanor had given him) that were on the desk and you could actually see the desk now. It was a miracle, it really was.

"Styles, you done?" A voice resounded down the hallway and through the open door, and Harry's heart dropped. No sign of his actual name, only his last name.

"Yes, sir. I've finished." Harry called back, wiping his forehead with the heel of his hand. Louis walked into the study soon afterwards, instantly taken aback.

"Wow, I never knew that it was this big." Louis teased and Harry laughed.

"That's why a bit of cleaning wouldn't hurt every now and again, sir."

"And that's precisely why I employ you, Styles." Louis was still laughing, but there was no smile. Not one trace, "I must say, you have done a good job though." The praise was small, but it was enough to boost Harry slightly more.

"I haven't filed the papers, I wanted to get your opinion on them, sir."

"I see you worked out Eleanor's filing system though?" Louis shoved his hands in his pockets as Harry stood from the bay window, walking over to where the court papers lay on the wooden desk.

"Yes, sir, I did. I guessed it was her that had done so much organising."

"You have no faith in my filing abilities?" Uh oh, Louis sounded pissed. Harry wrung his hands through one another and stuttered.

"I- uh, um--"

"I'm joking, Styles, calm it. You should know me well enough to realize that the writing on the labels definitely is not mine." Harry looked at the folders and just as Louis had said, the labels were written in cursive, fancy handwriting. He flushed, feeling stupid, "Now, I'm going to need your opinion on these cases?"

"My opinion?" Harry questioned as Louis sat down on the chair, pulling the papers closer to himself, taking a pen out of the small pot.

"That's what I said, wasn't it? Sit, we might be here for a while." Louis beckoned, pointing to the small chair that lay next to the large bookcase. Harry retrieved it, lifting it with ease to carry it next to where Louis was sat, "Now, we need to work out where we should place each of these cases."

"Okay, sir."

"Don't call me sir, it's fucking annoying." Harry's eyes widened as Louis's gaze remained on the page, "Well, only for now. Wouldn't want you getting into bad habits now, would we?"

"No, si--" He caught himself before he spoke the word he had just been told not to, "Sorry, no." He didn't know whether to call him Louis, but Harry didn't risk it. Louis was in a good mood for some reason, which was surprising because Eleanor had come over to give bad news, not good news.

"So, a case of theft, hm.." Louis thought, the tip of his pen in his mouth, "Whatcha think Styles?"

"What type of theft is it?" Harry questioned.

"Car theft, a vehicle stolen. Though it was then later retrieved about two hours later but this guy wants to sue the two men who firstly stole the car in the first place."

"Is that a minor crime in terms of your business?"

"Kind of, yes. I'm thinking one of the smaller firms."

"Sounds alright."

Louis wrote on the top of the first bundle of papers, scribbling the name of one of his many firms that the case would be directed to. Harry then filed it in the appropriate folder, and made a note of the firm's name so Louis could then email Eleanor.

"Next case, a speeding ticket misjudgement, ugh." Louis scoffed and pushed it away, "I'll do that one last, how boring." Harry couldn't believe how nonchalant Louis was being, this was someone's money on the line, their hard earned living that they were putting Louis in trust of. They were confiding in Louis to sort out their problem and he was pushing it away like it was another piece of maths homework that he couldn't be bothered to do. He didn't point that out though.

"Miss Calder said that there was another, something about about damage to a vehicle."

"Why are these all about cars?" Louis complained, turning the last stack of paper in his hand then inspecting it further, "Oh wait, this one's about a motorbike."

"What happened?"

"Some guy parked his motorcycle in the designated bay for them, went into his local gym and then came out to find that someone had reversed into it and damaged it. Says here that the person who damaged it did leave a note taped to the bike stating their name and phone number but is now refusing to pay for the damages. The guy's got a weird name too." Louis read the explanation and Harry scooted up to get a better look.

Right at the top of the papers held the name of the person who was wanting to carry out the whole law process, and as Harry read the name, his heart skipped a beat. Not in a good way, but in a very bad way.

"I mean, how the fuck do you say his name? Zanyay? Zan? Zane? It's spelt with a y, how the fuck?" Louis babbled on as he held the papers between his hands, "Styles, how do you pronounce it?"

"Zayn. Rhymes with rain."

"Not such an illiterate peccary after all, are we?" Louis chuckled at his own joke but Harry was too frozen to even process it. Why was that name familiar? Zayn Malik? It was bugging him now. Louis continued to ramble, choosing to deal with the case himself because none of the firms would really bother with a case as small as this. Zayn was prepared to pay good money, but even so, not one of Louis's firms had the time to waste on this case. He'd done a couple of cases before, it wasn't new to him. In fact, he had a good track record with the cases he'd done personally.

Telling Harry to just put Zayn's papers to one side, Harry obliged. As Louis talked, Harry stared at the paper, trying to burn the name into his mind and remember why it was so familiar.

Then it was instant. Like two nerves had collided and fizzed and it was all there. Harry knew exactly who Zayn was, exactly where he lived, exactly what his circumstances were in terms of personal life. Why? Because Zayn was an ex-client of Harry's. Once or twice Zayn had been the one that had called Harry up on a whim, wanting to let his anger out and apparently the way to do that was sex. It had only been six months ago too, so it wasn't as if Zayn was going to forget him easily.

All that Harry could think was shitshitshitfuckfuckfuck. Numerous other swear words coursed through him and he was frozen. No, Louis couldn't take on this case. That would mean that he'd come into contact with the boy again and be forced to pretend that they didn't know one another. He wasn't even sure that Zayn would remember the rules that he was not to say that he knew of Harry, and that was scary. Because if Zayn was to come over here and mention to Louis that he recognized Harry from somewhere, he was so done for.

"Styles?" Louis tapped his arm and Harry looked right into his eyes.

"Sorry?"

"I asked you, if I gave you Zayn's phone number would you be able to call him and say that I'm personally taking his case on and not one of the firms?" Harry panicked, no no no please sweet Jesus this was all a stupid shitty dream, please let it be.

"Are you sure you have time, sir?" Harry attempted to wrangle, though Louis wasn't going to listen.

"Of course, now go." Louis quickly took Harry's hand and wrote an 11 digit number on there, "There's his mobile number, now go call him."

Harry trudged out of the study, eyes glued to his hand. It wasn't as if he needed the chain of numbers.

He already had them.


	7. Chapter 7

Within the space of ten minutes, you probably would expect somebody to be able to dial a number and speak to someone on the other end of the line. But not Harry; he was not prepared to make this call whatsoever. The irony of it was that the task was so simple, so imcomplex yet it was taking so long. All because this one client that so happened to be the one that Louis had chosen to take on personally was someone that knew Harry's deepest, darkest, untold secret.

Shaking fingers and baited breath were what constituted the time that Harry was sat at a chair in the lounge, Louis's business phone. Louis had multiple mobiles; one for business calls (that hardly got used, today was probably the first time in at least a fortnight) and one that was solely for personal calls and Louis's personal party life. That one definitely was used more than the one Harry was currently holding.

Reading the digits, Harry typed them in, almost ready to drop the phone due to the amount he was shaking. Breath was coming out in short shudders and he was making it seem as if he was in some type of horror movie, a figure in a mask due to jump out at any moment. But that wasn't the case, a simple phone call was. Zayn wouldn't even recognise his voice, would he? Why was Harry so damn worried after all?

Pressing the call button with a nervous pounding in his head and chest, Harry tucked the phone up by his ear. A low ring reverberated over the line, making him startled slightly even though he'd been expecting the noise totally. Six rings was the time it took for the sound to stop, and Harry held his breath, waiting for that first hello.

"Hi?"

There it was, that voice that had been etched into Harry's brain. It wasn't as if he usually remembered customers perfectly, but Zayn had been different. Not in any way was Zayn someone Harry would settle down into a full blown relationship with, no way, but he was still attractive. There was no denying that. Cheekbones that looked as if they were sculpted by a professional artist, eyes that seemed to go on forever, a voice that could melt you with one word. And then, shit, Harry realised he'd been so focused on remembering their past encounter about six months ago that he hadn't said anything back to Zayn's cautious greeting.

"Oh, hello. Is this Zayn Malik speaking?" Harry wanted to sound as if he really had no idea that it was Zayn, but he knew perfectly well that it was. That voice really was hard to mistake.

"Look, if you're one of those over the phone sellers, I'm really not interested mate."

"Oh, no, no! This is an assistant of Louis Tomlinson's? The founder, CEO and president of Tomlinson and Associates?" At that, there was a faint exhale of breath on the other end of the line, as if Zayn had been worried that he'd done something wrong and had been found out. He probably had, to be honest.

"In that case, yes this is Zayn Malik. How can I help you?" Harry was lost for words, he really was. He didn't have any idea of what to say, maybe handing the phone to Louis right about now would be the most sensible thing to do, "Hello? Still there?"

"Yes, sorry, zoned out for a second." Harry apologized, getting up from his seat to wander around. He was one of those people that did the most random crap when speaking on the phone for a prolonged amount of time, "I was just calling to inform you th--"

"Hold on, do I know you?"

Shit shit shit. Zayn recognized his voice.

"No, not that I know of?" Harry attempted to cover up, running his spare hand through his hair.

"Your voice sounds familiar."

"I don't have a very distinctive voice, you must be confusing me with someone you've met before."

"No, I swear I know you, what's your name?" Harry was in trouble now, Zayn was onto him.

"Sorry? What was your question?"

"I asked your name."

"Uh, Jacob. My name's Jacob."

"Don't sound too sure about that, do you Jacob?"

"I am sure." Harry so badly just wanted to divert this whole conversation and quickly changed the subject, "As I was saying, I was calling on Mr. Tomlinson's behalf regarding your court papers you filed with us at the start of the week." Harry knew perfectly well that he sounded like an idiot, this was not how he usually spoke at all.

"Oh yeah, that. Some prick rammed into the tail end of my bike." Harry so badly wanted to snort, if that hadn't been classed as a euphemism he didn't know what did, "What about it?"

"I was calling to inform you that, if you would so wish, Mr. Tomlinson himself would be willing to take on your case himself?"

"And again in English? I don't speak any of that posh boy shit." Zayn was speaking how Harry would usually speak and it was only now that Harry realized how much this job had actually changed his way of living.

"Mr. Tomlinson was wondering whether you'd be willing to take a visit to his house in order to discuss your papers basically." Harry rolled his eyes, he hadn't remembered Zayn as this rude.

"Oh, sure. When?"

"I'm not sure."

"I thought you were meant to be good at this type of thing, Jacob?" There was a hint of a sneer laced in Zayn's words and Harry shivered at the tone. He hated the way that Zayn spoke sometimes, though he'd hardly heard him mutter more than a few profanities and a couple of sentences.

"I am, I'll go and pass the phone to Mr. Tomlinson so you can finalize details. Is that alright with you?"

"Sounds alright, yeah." Zayn snorted, his voice sarcastic. Harry was scared, petrified. He'd been almost recognized, and that really was a very very bad thing indeed.

 

\------

 

Louis was now on the phone to Zayn, lounging around as he sat in his plush study chair. He'd forgotten how nice this room was once it was clean, his mind going back to the nights he'd spend in here reading. But those days were gone; he had no time nor effort to sit down and read. But now the study was clean again (he had to admit, Harry had done an amazing job) he was happier within himself. This was why he'd fallen in love with the career path he was currently on; the authority and the businessy aura that surrounded everything was just perfect and he loved it all.

"Yes, Mr Malik. You did hear my associate right. If you'd wish, I'd be more than willing to take on your case personally." Louis spoke, realizing exactly how formal he sounded, "That is, as long as you agree and are happy with that rather than one of my smaller firms taking care of the case?"

"Yeah, yeah, it's fine thanks." This guy really sounded like he didn't care, but he obviously did if he was going through this much trouble to tr and compensate the damage to his motorbike, "Can I ask you a question?"

"About the case?" Louis responded and Zayn laughed.

"About your associate, the guy who rang me up in the first place."

"What about him?" Why would anybody want to know about Harry in more detail?

"What's his name?"

"Harry, what's the reason for your sudden apprehension? He will have nothing to do with the papers or anything if that's what your wondering, he's just my servant."

"I figured as much." Zayn replied, though Louis had no idea what that meant, "And I'm not worried about Harry, I just thought I recognized his voice from somewhere." Now it was Louis's turn to laugh.

"I really do doubt that, Mr. Malik. Harry never leaves the house, and if he does, it's only for groceries shopping. Unless you're a cashier at the supermarket, I doubt you've bumped into him before."

"Alright, it was just I could have sworn that his voice sounded familiar. Just me imagining things." Zayn coughed as he finished his sentence, "Now, what time and day do you want me round to yours to discuss these shenanigans?"

Louis wanted to laugh yet again, a court case could hardly be described as shenanigans, they were hard work, "If you're free this evening, I am too? You could come over for dinner, I'll get Harry to cook up something, or I can order takeaway?"

"Someone as rich and posh as you orders takeaway?" Zayn sounded taken aback.

"I can assure you, I'm really not that posh, Mr. Malik."

"If you weren't posh, you would call me Zayn and not Mr. Malik." Zayn mocked his laywer's tone, making Louis scoff, "See, you're now thinking what a dipshit I am, aren't you?"

"I'll see you in an hour, Zayn." Louis grinned, ignoring the boy's accusations and making a point of saying his first name and not just his surname.

"Sure, see you in a tick, Louis. I'll bring beer." The last three words were music to Louis's ears as he put the phone down, he could do with something like that right about now.

 

\-----

 

When the doorbell rang an hour later, Harry was not ready. He hadn't been ready for the phone call to initiate this all, and now he definitely was not ready to see the face behind the voice. Especially as that face would bring back so many memories along with secrets that were best left unsaid.

However, even though it was his job to get the door, Louis bounded up from the sofa (still dressed in what he had put on quickly this morning at the sound of Eleanor's visit), nodding at Harry as he appeared in the doorway to the kitchen.

"I'll get it, he is my client after all." Louis offered, "I think we're getting take away so there's no need to cook."

"Okay, sir." Harry guessed they were back onto that basis where he had to call Louis sir or master.

Louis strode to the door, fixing the collar on his shirt. It wasn't as if he was nervous, he was far from it. He just thought that his clients deserved to seem him in a respectable attire, not messy and unsuitable for a formal meeting. Any thought of Louis looking untidy completely flew out of the window when he opened the door, revealing a less-than-well-dressed Mr. Malik.

Black biker jacket that looked as if it would fall apart if you put it in the washing machine, a white rounded neck shirt underneath that looked slightly grubby. A dirt stain was faint upon the white material, though Louis just diverted his gaze to the pair of jeans on his new client's legs. Rips tore across both knees, the material fraying and as if he'd had a bad fall. It was all topped off with full sleeve of tattoos on his right arm, several drawings scrawled, completing a forearm that was covered completely in red, yellow, and black ink. It was pretty impressive, Louis had always been a fan of tattoos.

"Hello, Mr. Malik." Louis fake smiled, showing no teeth.

"Mate, just call me Zayn. Can't be doing with any of this surname shit." Zayn cursed and Louis wanted to roll his eyes. Sure, this was what he probably sounded like when out of earshot of clients or employees. Harry was different, Louis held no hesitation in that respect, "Can I come in?"

"By all means."

"Just saying now, there's no need to sound posh around me, Louis." Zayn addressed, kicking off his shoes as soon as he got inside the front door. Louis wasn't too fond on the idea that they were already on a first name basis, but if it was what meant he kept a client, he was prepared to keep them happy.

"If you want, I'm not usually this formal anyway."

"Sure look it, I mean, you're in trousers for god's name." Zayn smirked, and Louis just laughed, though it really wasn't sincere at all, "Do posh guys like you own a pair of jeans?"

"I usually like to wear jeans, I just thought I'd have to be formal for you." Louis explained and Zayn just nodded, kicking his shoes against the wall. Louis wondered for a moment where Harry was, he usually would follow even if told not to. His stubborn attitude was sometimes useful.

"You don't have to be, treat me like a mate, watcha say?" Louis really wasn't used to this type of informality between clients and firms, but the way that Zayn was smiling seemed to just make him agree. Sticking a hand out hesitantly, Zayn accepted it, grinning mischievously.

"Sure. Do you want to come into the lounge? Harry can get you a drink."

"Oh shit man, I forgot the beer. Damn it." Zayn put a hand to his forehead and shut his eyes in disbelief at himself, "Don't suppose you got anything?"

"Probably have." Louis beckoned for Zayn to follow him, "Come with me, Harry'll find us something."

"Speaking of that Harry fellow, where is he?" Gosh, Zayn really was interested in everything, wasn't he?

"In the kitchen most probably. Why?"

"No reason, no reason." Sure sounded as if there was a reason.

"If you want to say hi, you can." Louis laughed, completely joking. The look he got in return was not what he expected though.

"Is that alright? Just it'd be cool to say hi, see if I recognize him."

"I doubt you will." Louis folded his arms, "He hardly gets out much. I'm going to go change into jeans, you make yourself at home." Louis motioned to the lounge and doorway to the kitchen. Zayn smirked.

"Oh I will."

Meanwhile, only a few meters away, able to hear the hear the whole conversation, was Harry. Whitened knuckles straining against the draining board, Harry felt yet another wave of nausea spread over all of his senses, as if he could vomit at any given second. It felt like all the blood had suddenly drained from his body, leaving him just a pale skeleton. If someone had seen him at that point, they could have easily mistaken him for a ghost.

The point was, someone was watching him, that someone was Zayn. With careful glances and a proud smirk, he walked over to the boy and brushed at his hip.

"Surprised to see me... Jacob?" Zayn sneered and Harry froze. Every single one of his muscles tensed, his heart felt like it had stopped beating, and he froze. It was like he was paralyzed but by words.

"I, uh--"

"I knew it was you, I knew it."

"Zay--"

Harry was cut short when Zayn grabbed him, forcing him against the counter, back pressing into the hard granite. His worst nightmare was only a few inches away from him, and it was petrifying. The one person that could make or break not just his career, but his whole life.

"I knew it was you as soon as I heard that voice. I knew it was familiar, and now I know why."

"Wh-why?" Harry stuttered, and Zayn smirked cockily.

"Because you were screaming my name not more than 6 months ago. Don't try playing the naivety card with me, Styles." His smile was intimidating, scary even.

"Please don't, stop." Zayn's lips were dangerously close to Harry's neck, hot breath fanning over his body. Grazing Harry's neck veins slightly, Zayn smirked when he felt the boy tremble. Two nights together and Zayn already had Harry's weak spot nailed to a point.

"Don't what? You're practically a mess under me right now, just like you were a few short months ago." The graphic image popped into his head, and Harry shut his eyes.

"He doesn't know." Zayn lifted his head in confusion.

"Who doesn't know what?"

"Louis."

Zayn released the boy and frowned, ignoring the fact that Harry's cheeks were incredibly flushed right now.

"What?"

"Louis. He doesn't know." Harry repeated, looking anywhere but Zayn's eyes.

"He doesn't know that you sleep with people for money?" Harry gasped and clamped a hand over Zayn's mouth.

"Shut up! He'll know soon if you go shouting it like that you idiot!" Letting his hand fall back to his side, Zayn folded his arms. This really was a mess wasn't it now?

"So let me get this straight. You're a slave--"

"I am not a slave, I am a servant."

"Fine, whatever. You're a slave that works here for Louis and you pretty much cater to his every need yet when he's not looking you sneak out for an hour and fuck someone who needs a quick release of stress and anger?"

"The way you describe it sounds so wrong."

"I can't really comment now, it's the only reason I know you." Zayn shrugged and Harry turned an ever darker shade of pink.

"Please don't tell Louis. Or anyone."

"Why?" Zayn inched closer to Harry once again, their bodies almost touching. It was evident that the green eyed boy was uncomfortable, but Zayn really didn't care. It was his aim, "Tell me one good reason why I shouldn't tell anyone. Especially Louis." Harry looked panicked, eyes focused on his hands.

"I need to send money to my mum and sister."

"And this rich bastard doesn't pay you enough for just being his personal servant?" Hand found Harry's hip, and the younger boy gasped. He really wasn't used to this, and it made him want to just squirm out of the way of Zayn, "Or do you enjoy being thrown around like a sex doll, night after night?"

"I don't enjoy it at all."

"Well, tell you what." Zayn put a finger under Harry's chin, forcing him to look up, "I'll make a deal with you. I won't tell, as long as you do something for me."

"What do you want? I'll do it, just please. Don't tell a soul."

"One more night. You, me. None of your boundaries crap. Instead, we play by my rules."


	8. Chapter 8

Horrible was a word that Harry had used to describe the situation that he was in at present. There many other words that he could use; nasty, dreadful, awful, appalling, they were all sufficient. But when Harry thought about it all in his head, horrible was the word that seemed to describe it best.

Stupidly and on impulse, Harry’s answer had been yes. He’d agreed to break the sense of security he had always encased himself in, and said that yes, he would spend one more night with Zayn as long as it meant that his secret was kept on the down low and definitely not spoken aloud within the perimeter of Louis’s house where Louis could hear it.

Of course, Harry had naturally then questioned exactly why he let others exploit him when it really was the one thing that he hated most in the world. Sex was something that two people, who loved each other dearly, engaged in to prove their commitment and devotion to one another.

In Harry’s case, it was just the way that people got rid of their anger, and now that Harry thought about it all, he realised exactly how much he was repulsed by himself. Countless people, both men and women alike, had roamed his body, used it as some sort of play thing, and that was disgusting for Harry to think about.

But he had to do it. And now, he had to make it through this one night. If it meant that he could keep his secret in the dark, then he had to do it.

Wanting to get this over and done with as soon as possible, Harry had said to Zayn that he’d be at his house the evening after Zayn and Louis’s first meeting. Zayn had readily agreed, it was obvious that he was attracted to Harry like moths were to a light, so the sooner the better for him also.

Louis had a small meeting (that would also more than likely end up in a drinking party in the office late into the night) so he was completely out of the picture until at least two in the morning when he’d stumble out of a taxi, alcohol radiating from him as if he lived permanently in a liquor store. Harry vowed always that he’d be there when Louis arrived home; otherwise the grown man would be completely helpless and more than likely pass out on the front lawn.

So the evening of the agreement arrived, the day had seemed to drag on for Harry, and only about 15 minutes after Louis had left for his meeting, Harry was out of the door, phone in hand as he looked up the location of Zayn’s house on Google Maps.

Typing in the address, he realised with a sinking heart that Zayn lived at least a 30 minute drive from here. Plus, this was London. There was bound to be traffic, wasn’t there? The drive home sure was going to be interesting for Harry in terms of time. But if Louis was as intoxicated as Harry imagined he’d be, then there wasn’t a reason to worry excessively.

Climbing into the car with his hoodie over his head, Harry put his phone on the passenger’s seat, the voice function on Google Maps turned up so he’d be able to hear when he had to make a turn or something. Keys slotting easily into the ignition, the engine revved, the sound a marvelous one. It was an amazing car to drive, and although Louis was usually an ass, Harry was thankful that he was generous with his present of a car. Not that Louis ever thought that Harry used it, Louis thought that Harry never left the house.

The drive consisted of music playing softly underneath the obnoxious tone of the woman giving directions speaking out of his mobile. She was already pissing him off to an absolute maximum, but Harry had to keep calm. He had to maintain a level head throughout the whole of this evening. Because after all, his rules weren’t the ones that he and Zayn were playing by tonight.

The music that was playing on the radio gradually changed from those of what kids would listen to, to tunes with a vibe that was aimed at people around Harry’s age. He guessed it was because this was about the time that children were going to bed and adults were getting ready to go and party with friends.

Harry wished he could just curl up in bed and fall asleep for at least 12 hours, but whenever he slept it was only for about maximum 9 hours. Louis was one demanding bastard, which meant he was always up at the crack of dawn making breakfast for him. It was exhausting, but Harry wasn’t one to complain. It meant he got food too, more than what he’d get if he still lived at home anyway.

Randomly, a song came on the radio that Harry knew well. Chart music, as he had proclaimed many a time, wasn’t his favourite. But Bastille were a band that he loved and all of their songs were ones that Harry classed as pure genius. The lyrics soothed him and there was a song for any mood that Harry was in. It just so happened that at the moment, his favourite song called These Streets was playing, and for a moment, Harry let himself forget all his worries.

But too soon, the small mobile spoke the words that Harry had not wanted to hear, annoyingly confirming that he had indeed reached his destination. Green eyes scanned the road, looking for number 16, and then it was there. A run down house, completely blending into the street that looked like something out of an apocalyptic movie.

Turning off the ignition after pulling onto the drive (Harry didn’t often park on the drive in fear of someone seeing his car and recognising that it was indeed his but this was too far away for anyone he knew), he let himself bask in the ugliness that was the shabby house. Hoping that it wasn’t as repulsive inside as it was outside, Harry sighed partly in defeat.

Vines climbed the chipped white painted walls, windows and one single door clear of the repulsive plants. Flowers that once were living drooped in small window boxes along the ledges, their usually bright petals now faded into nothing. A small light flickered on and off above the doorway, it’s yellowy encasement cracked and broken.

Harry reluctantly climbed from the car after putting all of his valuables securely in the glove box just in front of the passenger’s seat. Even though he’d met Zayn before, he still didn’t trust him enough to put his phone and wallet within the perimeter of his house and be safe in the knowledge that it wouldn’t be stolen.

Just standing on Zayn’s driveway sent shivers down his spine. In fact, why did Zayn even have a driveway? There wasn’t a car on tarmacked pathway, so why would he even need a driveway anyway? As his feet began to slowly carry him towards the front door, Harry noticed a pristine motorbike tucked gently around the side of the house. He couldn’t help but marvel at it; it was such a lovely shade of royal blue but had a black stripe along the side and it just looked beautiful. Obviously Zayn took more pride in it than his house’s appearance. Or his own appearance for that matter.

Next to it, was a slightly more battered bike, and Harry guessed it was the one that he was filing a complaint for. The tail end of it was scrunched, and it looked as if someone had gone and whacked it with a baseball bat. It was still a beautiful machine though, instead of blue it was a pure yellow one.

Standing there looking at these bikes, the sound of a door opening and closing startled Harry and made him want to hide quickly in the shadows. He stopped himself from doing so, and instead turned to look who was standing in the doorway.

"You just gonna stand there then?" Zayn sneered, the words painful for Harry to listen to, "Or you gonna come in from the cold?"

For a second, Harry thought about his options. Climbing back into his car and not having to face a horrible couple of hours was one way to go. But coupled with that would be the loss of his job as well as the humility that would come with his secret being exposed. So the only thing Harry could do was walk up to the front door, meters away from Zayn, and think about what these hours would bring.

His first step into the house was cautious, taking his time as he felt Zayn's eyes constantly pinned unto him. It was the only way he could preserve the sliver of innocence he retained, but he really felt like he didn't have any innocence nor dignity to protect any more. Slowly, he shut the old door behind him, embracing the smell that was Zayn; musk and vanilla, a weird yet nice combination.

Compared to the outside, the house seemed pretty well kempt. The hallway that both Zayn and Harry stood in was quaint, with blue wallpaper that showed no sign of mould or peeling. Although the wooden floor they stood on held various scratches, that was expected. Varnish was hard to keep perfect, especially when you were Zayn Malik.

As Zayn led Harry into what he presumed was the lounge, the younger boy couldn't help but second guess himself yet again. Quickly, his other thoughts of a revealed identity took over each doubt that he was having and suppressed them. This truly was the only way; he knew that for a fact. Even if this wasn't foolproof and certain that it would retain his deepest, darkest secret, he was willing to have a go. Anything to keep it a secret.

The unfamiliar house really wasn't what he'd expected, and although now they were walking upon cream carpet (the colour that was most easily dirtied) that held stains of some sort, Harry couldn't help but feel this wasn't the worst scenario he could be in. He could have ended up in some shack that didn't even have running water or electricity; he'd gone and judged a book by it's cover.

The next room Harry was led into was a remotely smaller one, and it didn't take a lot to assume that this was a bedroom. Rapidly, his view of the house deterioated as he took in the furniture that was messily arranged, clothes in piles absolutely everywhere apart from the large bed. The walls held several pegs with motorcycle helmets of different colours, along with multiple framed canvases.

Looking closer, Harry realised that they weren't in fact paintings, but rather had been done with a medium that wasn't water colours or paints in general. Instead, a pigment that looked rather like spray paint that you'd use on cars and bikes covered the canvas, spreading multiple scenes over the frames. Some had words, some instead were pretty scenes, and all in all, they were really quite amazing and abstract. Light greens, baby blues, royal reds, they were all there. Harry was lost in the beauty of it all, maybe Zayn wasn't as bad as he had originally thought, some truth behind the mysterious physique.

"So Styles, I was wondering if you remembered anything from our last..." Harry's breath hitched as Zayn let his fingertips graze over Harry's right shoulder blade, and down to his already bruised hips as he searched for the right word to use, "meeting."

Weirdly, Harry found that the deep and gravely voice was arousing, but he couldn't focus on it whatsoever. Instead, there was an ever prominent pain at his hips, probably from yesterday and the whole counter top incident. When he'd gotten undressed into his sweatpants last night for bed, there had been a yellowy-purple one starting to form, but he'd just rubbed some Arnica onto it and stopped thinking about it. At present, Harry didn't want to appear weak and as if he was in pain, so he just stayed shock still.

"What's the matter, baby?" Pitifully feigned sweetness rolled off of Zayn's tongue, and did little to comfort Harry, "A little too rough of a fuck last time?" Harry was well aware that this kindness was not going to be continued throughout the night, so he grasped onto whatever innocence was left hanging by a thread and stopped his breath coming out too raggedly.

"Because if I was a little too rough last time-" Suddenly Zayn was in front of him, hands on his torso as lips trailed down Harry's neck. The younger boy tried his best not to squirm as a touch was felt right on his weak spot where his jaw finished below his ear.

Zayn didn't yet finish his sentence, instead continuing with his slow torture. Cold hands moved up underneath Harry's hoodie, palms flat against his toned stomach that had seen better days even though it was still impressive. Carefully, Zayn's fingers found the hem of the jumper, and assisted Harry as he took it off, leaving the boy in a white shirt that covered his torso. As Zayn scanned his body, he whispered his next words.

"Tonight is going to be even worse."

Almost lunging forwards, the two boys connected lips in an instant. Harry played along, arms draped over Zayn's shoulders, one hand curved around the base of the other's neck. Even though it was only by about two inches, Zayn was shorter, so stood on tiptoes to kiss Harry. A few minutes like this, and Harry could feel a hardness pressed against his thigh, pulling away to realise that it was indeed Zayn. He didn't complain, this was what his job consisted of.

"Rule one, you do whatever I say, when I say it." Zayn spoke, and Harry simply nodded. That was what he expected, but when he didn't speak, Zayn furrowed his brow, "Rule two, speak when spoken to."

"Yes, sir." The word sir was only appropriate in this context.

"And rule three. If I deem that the job you do this evening isn't good enough, we'll be continuing it on another evening until I think your performance is up to standard. If you fail my standards three times in a row, I will tell Louis."

Shit. What. No. This was not happening.

"Sorry?"

"You heard me." Zayn whispered, standing on tiptoes to put his lips right next to Harry's ear, "You do a shit job three times, I rat you out."

"But-"

"No buts. If you do a good job, you won't need to worry will you?" Zayn sneered, and Harry just blocked it all out. He had two hours to make sure that Louis didn't find out. Two hours, two goddamn hours.

"No, sir."

"Good, now take off your shirt."

Harry did as he was told straight away (rule one) and chucked it on the floor. In preparation, he also kicked off his shoes, aware that Zayn was completely in awe of his chest. Probably looking at the two birds on his upper torso.

The one single tattoo that Harry had was a pair of swallows, facing one another in their path of flight. Their wings were spread, and Harry had gotten them after seeing a picture of the beautiful birds as a child in one of his mum's nature magazines. Only very minority different, Harry had wanted them tattooed permanently onto his skin for as long as he could remember. In the UK, the legal age to get a tattoo was 18, or 16 if you were with a parent. So on the eve of his 16th birthday, Harry had dragged Gemma (although she wasn't his parent, she was still old enough to provide consent) down to the tattoo shop and gotten the two sparrows. It had hurt like hell, so naturally, Harry was kinda put off the idea of getting another inking. Still, he thought his two birds were pretty and he was happy that he had gotten them.

Zayn obviously was also a fan of the body art, and stepped forwards to trace the outline of the bird's wing that lay by Harry's left pec. His fingertip graced over the delicate wing of the sparrow, before tracing the curved eyebrow. He had noticed them at their last encounter, but not really looked at them properly.

 

"Didn't expect the innocent slave boy to have any tattoos." He mumbled to himself as his index finger glided over to the right most bird, finding it equally as fascinating, "How long you had them? "

"Since I was 16." Harry choked out. For some unknown reason, the touch was surprisingly stimulating, and he gulped to suppress any more emotion he might be showing.

 

"Got a few myself, got them before 16 though." Zayn whispered, letting his palm rest over Harry's beating heart. He smirked as he felt the pace of it intensify, "Not meant to, but I was friends with the tattoo guy."

 

Harry simply nodded as Zayn took off his own shirt, revealing the very tattoos that he had previously spoken of. A pair of lips lay bang smack in the middle of his pecs, two wings just above them. They resembled that of a pair of angel's wings, but from what Harry already knew, Zayn was far from an angel. More like a devil coated entirely in black. But now he was bare-chested, and the thought made Harry want to speak out, but instead he bit his lip in order to stop himself from doing so. Zayn, however, realised that he was doing this and provoking such a reaction, so that smirk reappeared on his nicottine stained lips.

"Trying to stop yourself from saying something?" The feigned pity was back as Zayn did a full circle of Harry, standing behind him and resting his hands on Harry's bruised hips, "Don't be afraid to moan, I love hearing those sounds come from your lips."

At this, Zayn's hands traveled round to the front of Harry's jeans, though Zayn remained behind him, which made the younger boy sigh and moan in relief, the sounds merging to create a rather unusual noise. Skillfully, Zayn undid his victim's belt. pulling it out and throwing it forcefully to the floor where both their shirts lay. Immediately after, his hands felt for the small button, accidentally (or on purpose, Harry wasn't too sure) brushing the ever present bulge that was slowly forming in the tight jeans.

"Nice to see you're excited for this." Zayn hissed, pulling the zipper down as he walked back in front of Harry once again, eyes gleaming as he then removed his hands.

"I'm not, I'm really not." Harry spoke to himself as he hung his head, which only made Zayn laugh. A finger was pushed forcefully under Harry's chin, startling him slightly. Parted lips drew in a gulp of air as he realised his words had been said aloud, earning another chuckle from the mysterious man.

"If you weren't, I don't think your downstairs would really be that ready, now would it?" He teased, and Harry just shook his head and bit his lip, wanting to say so many bitter things in that moment, "Now come on, take your jeans off."

Obliging quickly, Harry did so, tugging the skin tight fabric off of his slender legs with a wince. Seeing the bruises but not questioning them, Zayn picked up the jeans and threw them onto the back of a rather grubby chair, smiling as he then got to take in the picture that was Harry's body.

"I forgot how beautiful your body was to work with." Zayn reminisced, to which Harry felt himself blush. Even if it was in a context that was slightly weird, it was a compliment nonetheless.

It was true, anyway. Harry was beautiful. If ever you got the chance to look at him, you probably would think so too. His legs seemed to go on forever, especially when he wore those skinny jeans that he was such a fan of. They were model worthy, and any women would kill to have them also. They made Harry seem so much taller, so much more slender and well built, and secretly Harry took pride in his legs.

His torso was equally as impressive. Before working for Louis, Harry would often manage to sneak into his local gym without membership and work on the weights and cross trainer and treadmill for at least an hour collectively. It was what had given him the definition he had on his abs, and meant that often clients would compliment him on his muscle. When he had started to work for Louis, there was never that time, but in the early days, Harry had gone to the gym. This time he'd actually paid to be a member, but soon enough, that money was needed to be sent to Gemma and his mother also, so instead he would go for a run if he had time. Though time really wasn't that easy to find nowadays, so his muscle had begun to diminish.

Zayn took the opportunity to take his jeans off also, and so both boys stood in front of one another in only their boxers. Harry now also took in the fact that Zayn had several tattoos that covered his legs also, probably because he'd run out of space on his chest. Surely an inking on a shin would hurt more than one on a bicep, but that really wasn't what Harry was focused on at the moment.

Instead, he was now focused on the fact that Zayn had him pinned against the wall of the room, kissing him breathless. Harry's hands were placed just above Zayn's hips, whilst the other boy had his hands either side of Harry's head. It wasn't just a light kiss; this was one that showed passion and lust all mixed into one. Well, passion to fuck Harry as hard as he could, but it was passion nonetheless.

Harry wanted to do a good job, he needed to do a good job too. If he did, he could let himself relax around Zayn substantially more than usual. If not, he was pretty much going to be forced into another night like this. So he played along with the kiss, and somehow, forgot what he was actually doing. Embraced the moment he was in, and kissed Zayn back with as much might as he could. Although he did have to go through with this, at least it was with someone attractive. Some of his past clients had been less than pleasing to look at to say the very least, so Zayn wasn't the worst off.

The room was soon filled with passion, and not much longer, both boys (still in their boxers, not quite done with their foreplay) were on the bed. Harry's larger profile ironically was trapped under Zayn's smaller and surprisingly muscly one. An arm either side of Harry's head, Zayn continued to trail light kisses over Harry's tattoo that he'd quickly grown to love. He hadn't really taken into account how intricate the design was, and if he wasn't completely covered in tattoos, Zayn maybe would have contemplated getting a pair of swallows himself.

Lips continued to move downwards, hands coming to lie either side of Harry's hips now. Zayn ceased his movements as his mouth came to rest just above the waistband of Harry's black boxers, trailing his fingertips up over Harry's side to the small trail of hair that lay between his belly button and finished somewhere just below the material of his pants.

In a mixture of impatience and apprehension, Harry suddenly bucked his hips up, wanting the friction of Zayn's touch further down than it was at the present moment. The motion made Zayn chuckle, a firm hand pressed to the boy's hips quickly. Harry propped himself up on his elbows to see what Zayn was doing, green eyes bright and ready.

"Someone's eager." Zayn smirked, letting his hand travel slightly further downwards, ever so slightly grazing material. Nevertheless, Harry threw his head back and emitted a groan that was followed by a loud laugh from Zayn.

All Harry could think about was how weird this whole thing was. He never usually was this ready, but tonight for some reason, he was as eager as a child that knew they were about to be given sweets. Maybe it was because his whole career, and potentially life, depended on this.

Again, Zayn pressed slightly harder against Harry's boxers, loving the reaction he was provoking. He loved to show Harry that he was in control, and by doing this, it meant that the boy was completely in his control. Helpless and subjected to anything he did. Teasingly, Zayn picked up the waistband of Harry's boxers and then let it go, the elastic snapping back to hit Harry's toned skin. At that, Harry let out a low growl.

"Fuck, Louis."

Time stopped as both boys realised exactly what had just happened. A small slip of the tongue was what it had been, but in the context that the two boys were currently in, it meant a hell of a lot more.

"What the hell did you just say?" Zayn stood up, full height, towering over the now timid profile of a shaking boy.

"I-I-" Words were unable to be processed, and Harry scrambled backwards, head coming into contact with the wall. Zayn looked angry, scary maybe. And Harry was struck with fear, breathing rapidly. He had no idea what the hell had just happened, where had that one word come from? He hadn't even been thinking about Louis in the slightest, why had he said Louis's name instead of Zayn's?

"When I said that I liked the way you moan, I didn't mean your fucking employer's name you dick!" Zayn turned around, hand running through his hair in a frustrated manner.

"Zayn, I didn't mean to-"

"I gathered you didn't mean to you fucker!" Zayn bent down, retrieving Harry's jeans and threw them at the cowardly figure on the bed, "Put these on."

"B-but." Harry knew that what they had been doing no more than two minutes ago wasn't going to be finished, but he hadn't really taken into account how quickly Zayn was going to throw him out of the house.

"Just fucking put them on Harry." Zayn picked up his own jeans and slid them on over his legs, retrieving his shirt also and pulling it on too. In the short space of time, Harry had also gotten dressed fully, eyes wide and apologetic.

"Zayn I'm sorry, please don't tell Louis about that." Harry pleaded, which made Zayn just scoff and roll his eyes.

"First the prostitute secret," the boy took dangerous step towards Harry, and he instinctively flinched, expecting Zayn to hit him, "And now that fact that you moaned his name as I was touching you? You're really in the shit now aren't you?"

"Zayn-" Harry spluttered out as he was pushed against the wall for the second time that evening. His hands were held above his head by Zayn, their faces dangerously close to one another. Harry knew Zayn wouldn't even attempt to kiss him, he was way too angry for that.

"You have a week in which to clear your fucked up mind and forget about Louis, alright?" He was almost hissing, the anger boiling up inside him, "I don't know why you moaned his name, I don't even want to know. In seven days time, the exact time you were here today also, I expect you to be outside my door with your mind only set on fucking me, alright?"

Harry nodded sheepishly. He didn't really want to come back in a weeks time, but he had to. Zayn put his lips right next to Harry's left ear, taking the younger boy by surprise.

"Tonight was your first strike. Two more, and I tell your precious little Louis. Okay?"

Again, Harry nodded, and suddenly he was free. Rubbing his wrists where he'd been held so tightly, Zayn simply walked out of the bedroom door, expecting Harry to follow. He did, and when they reached the front door, Harry just looked right into his eyes.

"Please don't say anything to Louis." Was all he whispered, and Zayn stared right back at him.

"I have another meeting in three days with Louis. I won't say anything," He informed the boy, and just as Harry walked out of the door, he heard another single word spoken by Zayn, "Yet."

Before Harry could turn around and question the word, but the door was slammed in his face, leaving him stood in the flickering illumination of the shitty yellow light that really did absolutely nothing.

Immediately he walked over to his car, sat in it, and groaned. Everything was so shit, even worse than he could ever imagine. Harry knew that he was pretty fortunate in the living facilities he had, and the way that he lived, but it was all the secrets that were now coming to light that were well and truly terrifyingly shit. In frustration, he slammed his fist against the steering wheel, a loud beep resounding from the car. The noise startled even Harry, so he stopped, leaning back into the chair.

Why had that even happened? Sure, everyone made mistakes, said things they didn't mean to say, mix up words with other words. But this? This had blown everything way out of proportion. He'd moaned Louis's name, the person that treated him like he was dirt, and Harry had no explanation as to why. It wasn't as if he had any feelings for Louis. Sure, the guy was attractive with his blue eyes and good dress sense, but the reason why Harry had sporadically chosen to say his name whilst Zayn was touching him was mystifying.

Starting up the engine, Harry set his phone to take him home, the estimated time of arrival around midnight. He decided to take a detour, get home a little later than that, so pressed the button that set the directions not to take him on any main roads. Just as he'd expected, the route became longer and said that Harry would arrive home at at time more around 1 in the morning. That was fine by him, it gave him time to forget everything and appreciate the night time scenery as he drove through the smaller lanes that his mobile would take him on.

The whole journey, Harry listened to a mixture of artists ranging from The Beatles to Bastille, Plain White T's to Eagles, All Time Low to Downtown Fiction. All the songs seemed to help him forget his worries, and the one song that helped him relax the most was Little Bird by Ed Sheeran. Although the song didn't really have much meaning to his current state, the words were sung with such passion and meaning that Harry was lost in the lyrics. Instinctively he started to sing along, the well known words rolling off his tongue like they were his own name.

Two or three times, Harry restarted the song because he loved it so much and he managed to complete the whole song without messing up any of the words. The time flew by, and before he had realised, his phone recited the words 'you have reached your destination' in the monotone it always did. With a swift turn of the steering wheel, Harry was parked nicely upon the drive, and climbed out of the vehicle after collecting his valuables from the compartment he had hidden them in.

As Harry neared the front door, he heard a giggle which startled him. He stood root still, anticipating the worst. Who the hell was out at this time of night? That had definitely sounded like a five year old girl's giggle, not one that would come from a masked murderer, but Harry still was cautious.

Turning on his heel, he quickly looked, only to relax. Sat on the front lawn with a pair of shoes next to him, cross-legged and only in a vest top and jeans, sat the owner of the girly giggle, Louis. His eyes were sunken and as Harry neared him, he could smell the stench of alcohol from a meter away. He hadn't anticipated Louis to be home for another hour, but here he was, intoxicated to a dangerous point. Kneeling down in front of him, Harry looked Louis straight in the eyes.

"How long have you been out here for, sir?" Harry asked, only to receive another giggle.

"Sir? What am I, a Lord?" Wow, Louis was drunk enough to even forget who Harry was.

"Come on, let's get you inside. You smell like a pub." Harry hoisted his master up, picking up the pair of shoes that had obviously been worn by Louis during some point in the night. Quickly, Harry walked to the front door, Louis in tow, and unlocked it. Feverishly he stepped into the house, the night cold a clear contrast to the interior of the house and turned to pull Louis in also.

"Woah, do I live here?" Louis looked around in awe at the house, which made Harry laugh. He couldn't even remember the last time Louis had been this drunk.

"Yes, Louis, you do live here." Refferring to him by his first name wasn't going to be a problem seeing as Louis probably wouldn't remember anything about tonight when he awoke tomorrow with a hangover bad enough to make him want to vomit.

"I must be rich, only rich people-" He stopped to hiccup before resuming, "Only rich people could buy a house like this, right?"

"Yes, you do have a lot of money, Louis." Harry tugged Louis in the direction of the stairs, just being around his master was reminding him of the events that had occurred at Zayn's house, "Now let's get you to bed, you're as drunk as anything."

"Do I have my own bedroom?" Louis questioned as the two walked up the large set of stairs, and Harry simply nodded, "Wow, I never had my own bedroom. I used to have to share with my seven brothers."

Harry couldn't help but laugh again, he knew for a fact that Louis definitely did not have seven brothers, he was an only child. Wherever the idea that he had any siblings had come from, Harry had no idea, but it had humored him slightly. As they reached the top of the stairs, Louis soon began to babble again, marveling in his own house and how it was all such a contrast to his old house. Whatever house Louis was talking about, Harry was pretty certain that it was a figure of his imagination. He certainly had not lived in a house that had five floors and housed fourteen parakeets, so Harry decided Louis was just really good at imagining things.

When they went into Louis's room, immediately Louis fell silent. His eyes darted everywhere, and his lips parted slightly.

"Is this my room?"

"Yes Louis, it is." Harry smiled at the man who was currently talking like he was 15 years younger than his actual age, "Now let's get you undressed. You're not sleeping in that."

"Why?" In true child style, Louis crossed his arms and pouted, backing away from Harry as the younger boy took a step forwards. Again, Harry tried to advance towards Louis, only for the step to be mirrored. Soon enough, the two were chasing each other around the room, Louis laughing and giggling, Harry just grumbling but soon enough finding the humor in it all.

Just as Louis was about to dart out of the room and back down the stairs, Harry caught the back of his shirt, pulling him away from the doorway. With skill, Harry whipped both of them around so Louis was no longer facing the open door, and kicked it closed with force.

"Come on Louis, it's half one in the morning nearly." Harry tried to usher his behavior down, and strangely enough, he complied. Turning around, he stood still, allowing Harry to undress him.

"I like you, you're pretty." Louis spoke his thoughts aloud, making Harry stop slightly as he tugged the vest top off over the boy's head, "And funny. You're funny too."

"Thank you." Harry tried to sound nonchalant as he threw the shirt to the floor. Although that had been a compliment, it was unnerving for him.

"It's good, I only let pretty people undress me." Louis giggled. Harry attempted to ignore the comment, and began to work on Louis's belt buckle. Fumbling fingers restricted the work he could do, and soon gave up. Instead, he walked over to Louis's drawers and pulled out a pair of pyjama bottoms; usually he'd make Louis have a shower, but Harry was way too tired to deal with a childish Louis at the moment.

"Louis, take off your jeans please." Harry asked, only to be met with a pout and another pair of folded arms, "Louis, don't pout."

"Why can't you do them?" Because it was making Harry rethink everything, rethink every emotion he had. But he couldn't say that.

"Because I can't. Just do it and then put these on." Harry chucked the pair of pajama bottoms he held at Louis, who quickly caught them and tugged off his jeans to put them on instead. Still, he wore an expression of sadness, which was weirdly cute and Harry stopped himself from thinking that and instead rustled around in the drawer for a shirt. Finding one, he also chucked it to Louis who again, caught it skillfully and pulled it on.

"Now get into bed please." Harry asked politely, and Louis shook his head.

"Not tired."

"Louis-" Harry warned. Louis just continued to resist the pleads.

"I'm not tired."

"Well I am, so go to bed." Louis simply shook his head, blue eyes clear and ready to argue, "You've had too much to drink Louis, just go to bed."

"Fine. But I'm not tired." Reluctantly, he walked over to the bed and climbed under the covers, the white sheets seeming to engulf his small profile.

"Night Louis." Harry spoke, making his way over to the door. As he did, he heard a small voice whisper a farewell also, and with a sigh, Harry shut the door that finally separated himself and the person who pretty much had control over everything he did.

It was true if you thought about it. Everything Harry did, he had to think about the consequences and whether it would lead back to Louis. It was frustrating, and now, it was even worse than he could ever imagine. Now Zayn was in the equation, it meant that one wrong move, and Harry was done for. Not just Harry, but his family too. Anne and Gemma were dependent on his wages, every single penny went on protecting their well being. If he went down, so did they.

Trudging back to his room, Harry quickly stripped out of his clothes and put on a pair of flannel bottoms, and fell into bed quite literally. His whole body was tired, every single muscle ached, every bone creaked. The covers were pulled over his body, and although sleep was more or less expected to wash over Harry immediately, it didn't. Instead, he lay there, thinking about all the bad things in his life and replaying that moment where he had stupidly messed up his words. Zayn's threat also rang through his mind, he'd used up one of his chances.

Three strikes, and he was out. And now, one of those strikes was gone.


	9. Chapter 9

The next morning was a bit hazy for Harry as he leaned over the steaming pan. Scrambled eggs that were still a bit runny hummed and fogged up his senses. Although the sizzling was quite loud, thoughts running amuck did nothing but cause complete, utter distraction in his unforgettable memory. And how could he anyway? Not to be melodramatic, but a certain haunting series of events occurred just the night before, almost into the break of dawn.

It was now seven in the morning. He woke up at four, not being able to fall back into a hopefully peaceful slumber. It was his only escape from the life that was his hell, and he couldn’t even go to it. He really had only slipped into somewhat of a subspace at around three, rocking and rolling like a docked ship until the time being. Sheets tangled into his long limbs, making him constantly feel like he was being suffocated (as if the hauntings of that night hadn’t cut off his air flow enough).

In the lone hour he did rest in peace, no specific nightmare surpassed his subconscious. He did see something, but it was difficult to make out. All he really could remember were a pair of angel wings floating around in a mass of black. Every time he had reached out to touch them, the feathers had been engulfed in flames. But once he pulled back, the flames dissipated and the wings shone in light and beauty again. Then as he went to reach them for a final time, they split into two separate wings. He slightly remembers chasing after them, only for them to move farther and farther away. And as he was just close enough to see them start to fade, an almost golden glow surrounded them. They formed into spheres, taking the wings out of sight.

His dream-self yelled out to the then spherical honey-like hues. They swirled around and around until they stopped suddenly, when a dot of black ink fell into the center of both circles. The darkness stared back at him with a menacing glow. But when he had finally gotten them into focus, flames erupted once again from the center of the black. All he wanted back were those two angel wings, but they wouldn't come. Harry felt himself screaming to the point of exhaustion, when he finally found himself forcing his body upwards. His chest heaved as he had glanced around the familiar bedroom. Nothing was out of place, nor were there any angel wings there waiting for him.

He thanked whatever saints he could think of that he hadn't actually been screaming while his mind was in a frenzy. His throat was hoarse, but it had been like that when he went to sleep. When the snores of Louis went through his ears, a sigh of relief filled the room. Sadly, that relief did not last very long when he couldn't find it in his worrisome to fall back to sleep, no matter the amount of exhaustion he seemed to have been facing.

But cooking seemed to be the only way that Harry could find a peace of mind slightly calmer than what he could feel otherwise. Anyway, he had to make breakfast; Louis was due to be woken up in ten minutes ready for his meeting at 8am at his firm downtown. It was weird, suddenly Louis was determined to make sure that he went to every meeting needed, but the problem was that his alcohol intake had not decreased in the slightest. Especially last night, that had been the worst Harry had seen Louis in a long while.

He finished making the eggs, put some toast into the toaster and got two light green plates out of the cupboard and set them on the surface. He figured that by the time the toast was done, he would be able to go upstairs and be able to get Louis out of bed. But just as he was about to go do that job, the patter of feet sounded, and Harry turned round to see a pale and hungover Louis.

"Morning." Louis grumbled, Harry still stood in surprise at the fact Louis had actually gotten out of bed on his own for once and watched as his master sat down on one of the barstools that faced the large kitchen window and let the world go by.

"Do you want any eggs, sir?" Harry asked, walking over to the toaster and popping the bread up earlier than the device would have. When it was evident that Louis had not heard, Harry spoke a little louder, "Sir?"

"Oh sorry, what?" Louis mumbled, looking up again at his green eyed servant, "Were you saying something?"

"I asked if you wanted eggs sir."

"Yes please, but don't butter my toast please Harry."

Weirdly, Louis had yet again referred to Harry by his first name and not Styles, his surname. Never would Harry be able to get fully used to the sound of syllables rolling off of Louis's tongue, it sounded so unnatural. But for some odd reason, although it was unnatural, Harry sort of liked it.

"Sure, no problem sir." Harry nodded, putting the two bits of toast on one of the green plates before taking it over to the stove and spooning out some of the well-done scrambled eggs. He then pushed the meal in front of Louis, who simpered gratefully, especially when a bottle of tomato ketchup and a knife and fork followed quickly after.

"Thank you." Harry nodded simply in acknowledgement of the appreciation and then went over to collect the other two pieces of toast from the four piece toaster, putting them on a green plate of his own and then again putting the rest of the egg on the hot bread. Instinctively, Harry went to take his food upstairs to his room where he wouldn't be a bother to his master, but suddenly he was stopped, "You don't have to leave the room I'm in by the way."

Usually, Harry left because he felt he was being annoying. But now, he wanted to leave because there was so much going on inside his brain that he wasn't even able to comprehend any of it. Words that had left Louis's mouth in the early hours of the morning loomed over him, phrases such as 'I only let pretty people undress me' not leaving his mind. But it would have been rude of Harry to deny the subtle request that Louis was making for him to stay and eat, so he didn't. Instead he seated himself at the small kitchen island next to Louis, taking the ketchup and putting a blob next to his toast and eggs.

The first few minutes were pure agony, the awkwardness radiating from them both, Harry slightly more though. It was perfectly clear that Louis had no idea of what had happened last night when he had gotten home, nor the words he had spoken. He was oblivious to the fact that he had called Harry pretty, and Harry just wanted so badly to tell him everything that had happened. Before he could even begin to think about anything else, Louis turned to look at him, face slightly perkier now he had food in his stomach and not just a pit of alcohol.

"What time did I get home last night?" Louis prompted and Harry finished his mouthful, thinking thoughtfully about how he could answer. He couldn't tell Louis that he'd found him, completely out of his mind, sat on the front lawn with no shoes on and babbling nonsense. Instead he went for the casual approach, not answering anything more than was asked of him.

"About half twelve."

"And did I bring anyone home with me?"

"No, sir, you didn't." Harry took another mouthful, hoping that Louis would stop with the interrogation now. His hopes, however, were not enough.

"Were you home when I arrived back?" Harry stilled, but just nodded. Lying.

"Yes, I heard the taxi and brought you inside and put you straight to bed."

"Usually you make me have a shower, don't you?" Louis asked, and Harry nodded. If he didn't divert this topic of conversation, he was potentially going to ruin his own life without Zayn's help, "I still smell like I've spent my life in a liquor store, so I'm guessing that you didn't make me shower."

"No, I didn't sir."

"I don't blame you if I'm honest, I've seen videos from when people have recorded me whilst I'm drunk." Louis spoke, "I'm surprised you put up with me to be honest."

Harry swore he could hear a tinge of sadness in Louis's voice, but he tried not to let it bother him. Instead he took a mouthful again, chewing it slowly and watched as Louis stood up with his empty plate and put it in the dishwasher (which again, was weird because he usually just put it on the counter top for Harry to clear away).

"I'm going to shower and then head off to my meeting, I'll be back at around three, is that alright?" Harry was really beginning to get freaked out, usually Louis just left with no say of his ETA back at the house, yet now he was even consulting Harry to see if that was alright with him? This recognition from Louis that actually Harry had feelings and opinions just like anyone else was starting to get almost too weird. He wasn't sure if he was comfortable anymore, but he shrugged nonetheless, eating the last forkful of egg and toast.

"Sounds good, do you want me to cook anything, sir?" Harry asked with an aura of fake nonchalance, and Louis smiled. Not anywhere as genuine as the smile he had portrayed in that football photo that hung on his office wall, but it was still a faint smile.

"I'll bring back some take away, don't worry about food." And then he was gone, out of the room, letting Harry drop his fork onto his plate and sigh in exasperation. What the hell was going on? Whatever it was, it was weird as fuck, and that wasn't necessarily a good thing.

 

\-----

 

Louis shut the door after him, leaving Harry in the large house on his own for at least the next 7 hours. The house was already spotless, the only rooms maybe needing a clean were Harry's own bedroom, the bathroom and Louis's study. Harry decided he'd tackle Louis's office first, he really had no idea of the state it was in seeing as he hadn't been in there since Zayn had been round a couple of days ago, so he went to go and have a look. All Harry saw on his entry into the room was that the desk was pretty untidy, and that the bay window had a stack of books from the bookcase on it, so he entered in and began to tidy.

Within five minutes, Harry had put the books back in their respective places and then decided to work on the desk. The papers strewn across it were all emails that Louis had printed out and obviously found important enough to file, so Harry put them into a neat pile. Looking slightly closer, Harry read the name of the person who Louis had been emailing, stilling when he read the email 'zayn.malik@btinternet.com'. He couldn't help but shift through the pieces of paper, scanning each conversation to see if his own name was mentioned. With a full heart, he realised it hadn't, and put the papers in a pile again, finding a sticky note to put on the top and wrote in his cursive scrawl the words 'important emails'.

The next stack of papers were all to do with some various cases that one of the firms had successfully won, and therefore had received an extra bonus of money for their hard work. It was clear that Louis had been in the middle of doing these, various calculations and sums of numbers that had Louis had started and not yet finished. Again, Harry put them in a pile, sticking another post-it-note on the top and writing the words 'accounting - do these asap'. He was sure that Louis would therefore remember what he had been in the middle of doing and carry on. The pile was then placed neatly next to the one of emails, leaving a folder that Harry had never seen in his life.

Carefully, he picked it up with steady hands and inquisitive eyes. It definitely wasn't a folder for any court cases, there was usually a label on the bind of it, so Harry was confused. In a normal manner, he turned it over to inspect the front of it, breath suddenly stopping.

On the front, was a label that he'd been looking for. It didn't hold words along the lines of 'Firm Court Cases' or 'Finances', this label was entirely different. On it, the words 'Memories' was written, the handwriting immaculate. Harry knew that it most definitely had not been Louis that had scribbled the word that held so much meaning, but someone had some time ago. It wasn't printed, it was written by a person.

Daintily, his fingers prised open the cover, dust swirling upwards quickly as the influx of air unsettled the small particles. Harry watched in awe as they danced in the single stream of light that shone through the patterned glass of the bay window. lighting the room with small triangle shaped stencils. Attention was soon diverted back to the book, and Harry marveled at the first page, looking at the small but faded picture that lay on it.

With attentive care, Harry picked up the small photo and shook it a couple of times, flicking his wrist to let the lint fly off it. Harry decided then to sit down in the chair, and as he did, winced. He'd forgotten how bruised his hips still were, but small actions such as bending down to retrieve something from the floor or standing on tiptoes to reach an object stored up reminded him of the purple inflictions. Nevertheless, his regard was soon back on the small picture at hand.

Although the size of it was smaller than a normal photograph, Harry could still make out the people that were in the picture. Stood, directly in the middle of the photo, were three people; one woman and two men. Well, Harry said men, but one was a boy, and looked about five years old in age. His smile was bright and contagious, and he wore a cute blue shirt that had the slogan 'I understand, I just don't care' printed on it and a pair of ripped jeans that were stained with grass smudges and dirt specks. The woman next to him held his left hand, smiling brightly, her facial expression resembling the one that the small boy was holding. She also looked like the boy, who Harry presumed was her son, and he soon realised that this was indeed Louis and his parents when Louis was only young. Taking a closer look at Louis's father, it was shocking to see how much he really looked like the Louis nowadays; bright blue eyes, brown feathery hair, short height.

Returning the photo back into its small little corner holders, still awestruck over how much Louis looked like his father. Come to think of it, Louis had never spoken of his father, nor of his mother all that much either. Was he ashamed? Was there something he was hiding? Harry tried to stop himself from jumping to conclusions. After all, he himself was the one that was holding so many mysteries in the dark.

After smiling at the beaming boy in the image, Harry turned the page again, close to gasping as he saw snapshot upon snapshot, likeness upon likeness, all spread out on the page, coated in dust. His lips blew away the soot fragments, and carefully Harry put the binder of photos down in front of him. Curiously, he flicked through the pages, seeing that the majority of them were filled with mementos, all of them from Louis's past.

For the next two hours, Harry spent his time simply flicking through each picture. He had figured out that it went in a chronological order (excluding the picture at the very front of Louis and his parents that Harry had found first) and each photo had the date of when it was taken printed on the back of it. The first page was full of mainly baby photos of Louis and his parents, and Harry had almost been in awe at how blue his eyes were, even more so then the present day. Each picture showed a smiling and bubbly little boy, his parents overwhelmed at how beautiful their own son was. Cerulean irises shone throughout each snapshot, the beautiful colour one that resembled a Caribbean ocean that was clear and calm, or maybe even those small bluebells that lined the paths through the park in town when the winter months came.

Further on, several different pictures of Louis as a small toddler were slotted into the folder, Harry's favourite one the one of Louis holding a toy giraffe tightly, hugging it with all his might as he buried his face into it lovingly. The photo had been taken at the optimum time by the photographer (whoever it had been) and had captured the small smirking corner of Louis's mouth.

Then came the school year pictures, starting off with a picture of Louis's first day at school. He stood proudly in front of his front door, a satchel slung over his shoulder, a flat cap perched atop his messy hair. Blue cardigan stereotypically British was worn over a pristine white polo shirt, pressed black trousers over his legs. He was adorable, and Harry let the thought run through his mind. No, stop.

What followed were the awkward teenage years, the years that Louis looked almost reluctant to have his photo taken at all. Harry noticed that the shine in his eyes had lessened considerably, the once vivid blue more a lighter one that blended into the white sclera. There were multiple photos like the one on the wall of Louis proudly stood with different trophies and smiling with medals of different colours but mainly gold. One that peaked Harry's interest was an action shot of Louis actually playing football, maybe around the age of 17. He was kitted out in a white shirt and black shorts, neon blue and green boots to finish. The ball was at his feet, and the photo was of him skillfully maneuvering round a player, presumably to move in the general direction of the goal. It really was a good photo, but the subject of it was what made it so magnificent.

With a glance up at the clock, Harry realised it was indeed actually now 10 o'clock, and that he maybe had enough time to watch a tv programme or something. With regret, he shut the album, making sure none of the photos spilt out onto the floor, and put it on the desk, face down as he had found it. Just as he was about to walk out of the door, his eyes fell on the bookcase, spotting the books that he'd put away as well as the ones he had fawned over only a couple of days ago. In a debate of decisions, Harry decided that he'd read one that he longed to read in so long, 'One Day'. Even though he'd heard reviews of it that said it was maybe slightly cliche and childish, he had also heard amazing things about it. So, Harry walked over to the rows of books, found the David Nicholls novel, picked it out and then settled himself down in the small bay window.

The hours flew by, the pages seeming to be read at lightning speed as Harry engulfed the words with such vigor and interest. When the last page was read, his eyes were brimmed with sadness, tears threatening to spill, and he looked once again at the clock. With a start, he realised Louis would be here in under five minutes. Shit. Where had those 5 hours gone? Quickly he jumped up, put the book back and panicked as he heard the sound of a door opening and closing on cue.

"Styles?" A loud voice called out, the accent unmistakably Louis's. Great, Harry was sure to be scorned for not doing anything in the 7 hours and now Louis was also referring to him by simply his last name. As he was about to sigh, he heard another, more muffled voice, though Harry could still make out the words.

"You still only call him Styles? Come on Tommo, that's low."

"For the last fucking time, Liam, don't call me that!"

Harry brightened up slightly, Liam was here, and although that meant he did get out of being told off, it also meant that he might be treated in a slightly more humane way. He ventured out of the office, taking a look around and smiling as he relished in the fact that it was actually clean and would be suitable to work in now. Harry couldn't even begin to comprehend how Louis managed to work in such conditions, but it was just down to his personality he guessed. It was also why he maintained a job, so he figured he better stop complaining. The short walk into the lounge brought him face to face with a blonde boy that he most definitely had not expected to see seeing as he hadn't heard his Irish accent and as Harry stood awkwardly in the doorway, the guest looked up.

"Oh, hi Styles." Niall nodded, the tv remote in his hand as he flicked through the channels, not yet sat down on the sofa that had a blanket messily arranged on it.

"Hi." Harry fake smiled back, before making a quick retreat to the kitchen, hoping it would be free of people. When he walked in, he almost bumped straight into the other guest, quickly averting his steps to stop himself from crashing into Liam.

"Hey Harry! How have you been?" The soft tone that was Liam's accent seemed to bring peace and serenity to a weirdly jittery Harry, and so he smiled. He really valued Liam as one of Louis's friends; he was good-natured, kind, polite and actually thought of Harry as something more than a servant. A friend, maybe.

"I'm good thank you, Mr Pay-" He stopped short when Liam gave him a look to say 'no' and instantly corrected himself, "Liam. How are you?"

"I've been alright, times are hard at the moment, but who hasn't felt the brunt of the recession, right?" Liam laughed at himself, turning back to what he had been doing before Harry had walked in, which was getting some plates out and putting the takeaway (fish and chips) Louis had obviously brought home onto them. Noticing that Liam had actually gotten four plates out instead of three warmed Harry's heart, it was nice to know someone remembered him, "Do you know where the forks are?"

"Yeah I do." Harry smiled and then proceeded to walk over to the cutlery drawer that was so neatly arranged into separate sections, "How many?"

"Four, and four knives too." Liam smiled, "though not sure why Niall really needs them with the way he eats."

"I heard that you dick!" Niall shouted through the doorway that separated the lounge and the kitchen, which made both Liam and Niall laugh unexpectedly. After their chuckles had died down, Harry grabbed two of the plates and waited for Liam to grab whatever he wanted.

"Where's Louis?" Harry questioned as Liam walked over to the condiments cupboard and reached up to grab the ketchup and vinegar.

"He went to go get changed. Did you not see him when you walked through the lounge?" Harry shook his head.

"No, I didn't. How was the meeting?" Liam furrowed his eyebrows which made Harry realise his mistake, "Oh, I forgot you don't work for Louis. Sorry."

"No need to apologise, my job is pretty sub-standard compared to Louis's business, it's not a problem that you forgot." Liam's warm smile comforted him that his mistake was really alright, and before he could apologise again, Liam spoke, "I'm not Louis's friend because of the money he has, he's genuinely a nice guy. Just you happen to have a firm latch on the wrong end of the stick when it comes to his personality."

"I wasn't trying to say that Louis isn't nice-" Again, Harry was interrupted by Liam's laugh, "What?" Liam grabbed the two plates that Harry wasn't holding, precariously balancing the two bottles of ketchup and vinegar on top of the golden fries and the sets of cutlery on the other.

"You speak yourself down a hell of a lot, you know that?" Liam shrugged, and before anything else could be spoken on the matter, he was walking out of the kitchen and into the lounge, where Harry could now hear Louis's tone as well as Niall's.

Harry stopped in the doorway with the plates, watching as the other three males interacted with one another. Niall and Louis were arguing slightly over something.

"Mate, Doncaster are shit and you know it. How many times do I have to say it?" Now it was evident their spat was over football, a game that Harry loved to both watch and play but never got the opportunity to do either, "Tell you what, I bet that the score at the end is at least 2-0 to Derby."

"You're deluded." Louis rolled his eyes as Harry walked over and handed a plate full of food to him. A small nod in appreciation was given, "Doncaster have a much better line up than Derby do, I mean look?" The stats of the players and of the formation popped up on the television screen, Liam quickly sitting down and handing his spare plate to Niall. The Irish boy gave verbal thanks, immediately taking the ketchup and putting a large dollop on his plate.

"Yeah, but Derby are just better all together to be honest, your manager is a prick." Niall laughed and Louis just took the ketchup. Harry began to walk out the room to his own bedroom to eat, but as he did, a vice piped up.

"Harry?" He turned to see Liam's questioning face, "Where are you going?"

"To my room." He answered truthfully, and Liam just looked pitiful.

"You can stay down here, you don't have to leave." He informed the servant, which made Louis sit still for a second, "Eat with us and watch the game, I know you like football."

"Uh, okay. If you're sure that's alright?" Staying downstairs with company sure sounded better than simply wasting away in his own room. Louis looked ready to say something, but instead just nodded.

"Just sit and eat Styles." He sighed, and Harry really couldn't make out what the underlying tone of his voice was. Annoyance? Sadness? Pity? They were all options, yet Harry was not sure which one exactly it was that laced his master's breath.

Despite all the other variables that showed Louis may or may not really want Harry around, Harry did as he was told. He perched precariously in one of the small armchairs seeing as the three other boys took up the large sofa, and pulled a cushion onto his lap to place his plate on. Liam was closest to him, and so passed him a knife and fork, which Harry thanked him for.

The next 15 minutes spent were in relatively quiet surroundings, the television the only thing to be making any noise as the first whistle went to start the first 45 minute half. Louis and Niall both focused their entirety on the screen, enthralled by the fact that their home towns were playing against one another, yet not wanting their home side to let them down. After the starting third of the first half, the banter started too seeing as all the food was eaten. Harry was content in sitting on his own and watching the game unfold, slightly chuckling when Derby scored in the 13th minute and Louis let out a groan. For a second after the noise, Harry had hitched his breath. The sound had been weirdly attractive, but then he's stopped that train of thought. Nothing good would have come from thinking like that.

When the whistle blew for half time, the score was still 1-0 to Niall's home team. It meant that the smaller Irish bloke was eligible to rip the shit out of Louis for the time being, and so he did so, reveling in the fact that Louis's team were worse than his. Taunts and teasing were aimed Louis's way, though he decided it'd be better to ignore them and focus on the television screen. Realising that his mate was no longer interested in bantering around, Niall turned his topic of conversation to one that Harry was surprised by.

"Got anywhere with Eleanor yet, Tommo?" Niall playfully pushed Louis's bicep.

"No." Reply was blunt, signalling that Louis wanted this conversation over. But Niall wasn't very good at taking hints.

"How come? Lost some of the cheeky charm, have ya?" Liam's face was panicked, and he looked over at Harry for some help to try and signal to Niall that he needed to cut it out, "Or just decided finally she's way out of your league?"

"Niall, shut the fuck up." Louis muttered, though the boy continued, thinking he was doing no harm.

"I mean, that ass is.." He was caught for words before just sighing in contentment, "Words cannot describe the curves on that woman."

"Niall-" Liam warned.

"If you weren't chasing after her like a lost puppy, I sure as fuck would go fo-"

"Would you shut the hell up and stop being such a sick bastard!" Louis was angry, Harry couldn't remember the last time he had been like this, it was frightening. A red tinge lay across the top of his cheekbones, his eyes narrowed, fists clenched as he stood up purposefully, "You're a sick fuck, learn to stop being such an idiot and close your mouth, seriously." Louis's voice choked, his words halting in his throat. Quickly, he looked over at Harry, and Harry could've sworn that he'd seen tears in his eyes.

And then he was out, out of the room, leaving the other three in awe of what had just happened. Niall's eyes were stuck on the doorway that Louis had left through, Harry's focused on the spot that Louis had stood up to stand in and where he had given him that sad and dejected look, Liam's planted firmly on the tv. Liam finally swiveled his head, eyes resting on the boy who thought he had done no wrong.

"Niall-"

"I understand that he's a sore loser because the Donny's are losing, but doesn't mean he has to have a go at me." Niall grumbled, standing up, He pulled his shirt down from where it had crumpled midriff, before running a hand through his hair, "I'm leaving, tell Louis he can go fuck himself for all I care."

Then, yet again, another one of the original four was gone, leaving Liam and Harry in confused and stunned silence. Liam stood and Harry assumed he was going to leave, but as he spoke, he learnt otherwise.

"I'm going to go find Louis." Harry shook his head, standing upright.

"No, I'll do it." Liam's eyebrows creased in puzzlement at Harry's offer.

"Are you sure?"

"As sure as I can be, Liam." He replied simply, and walked in the direction of the doorway. Turning slightly, he saw Liam sink back onto the sofa, eyes on the football game that was about to start back up once again for the second and final half.

Cautiouly, Harry walked past each door and put his ear to them, listening to any sign of life. When he neared the study, his heart fell as heard the sobs that had been so close to falling when Louis had been in the lounge. With apprehensive fingers, Harry placed his hand on the door, rapping his knuckles four times.

"Sir? Are you alright?" When there was no reply, Harry tried again, choosing this time to take a different approach, "Louis, come to the door, please."

The sound of foot against floor was heard, then the door opened, revealing Louis. His hair was slightly tousled, he'd obviously run his hands through it in exasperation, body slightly slouched, skin as pale as it had been this morning when he'd been suffering from a well-deserved hangover. But what Harry noticed were Louis's eyes. Tiny tear lines stained his cheeks, the blue irises brighter than Harry had ever seen them. They were exactly as they had been in those photos of Louis as a child in the folder, and Harry wanted nothing more than to simply engulf him in a hug, tell him everything would be alright.

"What do you want Harry?" Louis choked, and Harry looked down at him.

"To know what's wrong."

Louis averted his eyes to the floor, looking at his shoes, before looking back up at Harry. Biting his lip, he weighed out his options, before letting his shoulders droop.

"I can't do that."

And Harry was back to square one, the door shut in his face as Louis disappeared once again into the study. The firm click of the lock signaled that he most definitely wasn't letting Harry in, and the boy sighed. What could possibly be wrong? So wrong, that Louis was locking himself away, both on the outside as well as the inside?

For once in his life, the boy who usually knew so much was perplexed. The feeling of confusion was one he didn't feel often, and to be honest, he didn't like it at all.


	10. Chapter 10

It was a couple of days after the football fiasco (Derby had actually won 3-1 and Louis had called up Niall afterwards and apologised for snapping but hadn't disclosed why which had made the apology slightly harder) and Louis was currently sat in the living room, scribbling frantically onto pieces of paper as Zayn explained exactly how he had found his damaged bike. Pen worked against paper effortlessly, Zayn falling silent for a few minutes as he watched Louis write down all the details he needed.

"And you say he left a note on you bike?"

"Sure did." Zayn nodded, "Said 'sorry, hit your bike' and then gave his mobile number. But then I called the prick and he refused to pay up for the damage."

The two then sat in an awkward silence for a few seconds. Louis didn't know what it was about Zayn, but he always felt so uneasy under his gaze. Two brown eyes constantly following his every move, and though technically Louis should have been the one to try and intimidate his clients, he really wasn't going to be able to do that. The slouching figure in the recliner was taking control of it all, every conversation, every move, every breathe. It was suffocating.

Louis shuffled through the papers, pretending to examine them for the sake of filling the silence, he did in fact, allow himself to look at the personal details Zayn had written on his form. With interest, he read that Zayn's birthday was on the 12th of January 1993, which made him only 20 years of age. He definitely did not look that young, he was at looked at least five years older than that. It also gave his previous two home addresses, his occupation, and his tax information. Some other smaller and less significant details spread across the page, and Louis wondered what he could say.

On cue, footsteps resounded from the kitchen and followed into the lounge, and both client and lawyer turned to look, only to see a bright eyed boy who flushed pink when he entered the room. Louis noticed that Harry's eyes were reluctant to settle on Zayn, and instead directed his gaze towards his master.

"Would either of you like something to drink?" Harry asked, his voice slightly deeper than its usual pitch, and Louis wondered why.

"I'm alright for now, thank you. Zayn?" Louis prompted. Zayn just shook his head, directing a suspicious smirk right in Harry's direction, which made the servant instead quickly depart from the room. Zayn chuckled sightly, Louis looking at him with a weird expression, "What's the laugh for?"

"Just Harry in general." Zayn looked back at Louis, "He's just as I remember him." Louis definitely was confused now, just as he remembered him?

"Yeah, you mentioned you knew him before the other day."

"Mhm." Zayn made the small sound in approval, "Yeah."

"Since when?" Zayn grinned, tapping the side of his nose.

"A true gentleman never tells his secrets. Surely someone of your social class would know that?"

He leaned back in the recliner, placing his feet on the coffee table in front of them. His boot-clad heals dug into one of the papers, making a smudge. Louis's eyes widened in anger, but he didn't say a word. Zayn smiled to himself in satisfaction that he was angering the older man and distracting him from the all important work that had to be done.

"Do you mind?" Louis lightly gruffed out in irritation. Though his voice was barely above a whisper, Zayn could tell that he was quickly losing his patience.

"Not at all, thank you. Rather comfortable actually. Do you mind?" his smirk heard in his tone.

"Oh of course not," he responded sweetly sarcastically.

Louis grabbed the end of the papers that was under Zayn's boot and roughly pulled it from underneath him, ripping the corner and spreading the dirt and oil onto the page. Zayn let out a bark of laughter while Louis's hands started to shake and his jaw clenched. Controlling his temper was difficult enough, but then add in a narcissistic asshole like Zayn purposefully pushing him to his breaking point, and hell was knocking on the back of his head loudly.

"Do you think this is funny to you?! Is this a joke?! I am working to help you, not me. You are paying me. If you want, you can walk out that door right there and hire another lawyer but-"

"But I won't find one nearly as good as you. Blah blah blah I know. I get the picture. Jeez Tomlinson, only poking fun. Can't handle a little teasing? Shame, that doesn't look too good on...'London's greatest law firm,'" Zayn was leaned all the way to his face, barely speaking above a whisper, hands in front of him as he put air quotes in Louis's flaming face.

There was an annoying twinkle in his eyes that Louis had seen all too much from this man in the past few weeks: amusement. This really was just a game to him. Did he really even give anything about getting the money for his oh-so-precious vehicle? Perhaps, but that wasn't his main focus anymore. The question on his mind was though, if he isn't truly in it for winning this case, then what was his real point of being there? A need for inflicting humiliation? Pure boredom? Revenge? But what for? Oh well, all valid options, plus more and more that kept flowing in like a river.

"Of course, Mr. Malik. My apologies."

Zayn barely had time to acknowledge him (if he even would have) when his cell phone was heard from his office.

"Styles, could you get that for me?"

"Yes, sir," he responded a bit too quickly.

Harry ran out of the corner of the kitchen that he was definitely not eavesdropping from. He hadn't dared to glance into the living room where the other two men were conversing. That burning feeling on the back of his head signified that he was already being watched. By which man, he could not determine, but he was intelligent enough that he could make assumptions.

Another wave of realization came over him as he realized that ringing cell phone that he was asked to retrieve was indeed in the one room that he had been repeatedly told to stay out of (though he had made several visits in the past few days). The fact that he was once again omitted without question into his office made a rather pleasant feeling crawl up his spine. However, he wouldn't take it to heart, as that may cause problems for him in the future.

He stepped inside the already illuminated room and basked in the atmosphere. Even though he had just organized it the day before, his desk was already a mess of papers and file folders. The folders that he had placed down and labeled for Louis were still in place, though some of the papers were spilling out of the side. His personal folder had also been toiled with.

Without hesitation, his large hands reached over to the messenger bag on the desk chair. Inside, it wasn't any more organized. He stared into what could be his only actual possibility that he could die of paper cut wounds. Though it was a risk, he had a keen feeling that ignoring this call would be a tad hazardous to not only him, but to others around him (or he was just feeling funny from all the stress that had been building up the last few days), so he carefully reached his hand in and moved around everything inside. Okay there was obviously a lot more than just loose papers in there. His hand eventually brushed something sticky attached to what felt like a bottle, but he didn't have the nerve to see what it was.

He eventually reached an item that was vibrating rapidly and relief took over him at the fact that it was still ringing after all the time he had taken to finally attain it. Checking the caller ID, he saw what seemed to be a picture of a woman looking at something outside of the image and a heart next to her head that was obviously edited. It looked like a picture that somebody had made in high school for a friend of theirs as a joke.

Harry huffed slightly and accepted the call. "Hello Miss Calder, this is Harry."

"I'm sorry, who's Miss Calder? I don't know anybody of that name," the familiar feminine tone went through the line.

"Please excuse me, Eleanor. Still not quite used to that yet."

"Quite alright, Harry. And you also don't need to speak in such a formal way. I know that where you come from, speaking like that could lead to getting your ass beat."

The choice of words from the young woman led Harry to awkwardly clearing his throat. "Pardon me miss, but how do you know where I came from?"

"Oh Louis as told me before."

Louis talked about Harry with Eleanor before.

"Ah, I see. Makes more sense now. So, to what do Mr. Tomlinson and I owe this honor to having you call?"

Harry glanced around the room once more, just doing another inspection of the wall decor. The same old pictures and certificates were still on display, though they were a tad crooked, which didn't help with Harry's undiagnosed OCD. He could faintly see which pictures had been there longer, as a dark outlining started to show around them. Although the walls looked to have been painted only a few years previously, there was already a hint of age that could be found in the cracks of the finish. The temptation to run his fingers over it was strangely astounding; perhaps Harry had found another strange thing that made him tick.

"Is that okay?"

A little less of a jump followed as Harry came back to reality. (Okay maybe more ADD than OCD.)

"Oh uh yes. Of course, ma'am!" his large, gangly hand matted some of the curls on his neck.

"Great! I'll be there in twenty. You sure now is a good time? I know Louis's most recent client is over. I don't want to impose."

The opportunity to avoid a completely awkward and possibly humiliating meeting was right there in front of him. He obviously wasn't paying attention to anything she was saying. Perhaps Louis and Eleanor could discuss everything at another time and everything and anything punishable will be out the window. Perfect. All he simply had to do was say no and-

"Oh you wouldn't be! Last I checked, things weren't necessarily on task so that shouldn't be an issue. I'll be sure to inform him."

"Oh that's wonderful. Alright well, Harry, I'll see you soon."

"You too. Goodbye, Eleanor."

He pulled the phone from his face to tap the 'end call' button, only to see that his own sweat residue was on the screen. How Louis had not fired this mass of nerves and uncoordinated limbs months ago was a mystery to him. Sure he worked hard, but mistakes were a must for him on a daily basis apparently.

Phone left on the charger, Harry left the study and carefully made his way back to the room where the two men he feared the most sat. He looked up to see Louis frantically searching for some sort of paper that was "detrimental to this case. You don't seem to understand!" Zayn looked on in hilarity, seeing the older man so flustered. His arms were crossed over his toned chest, the lip and angel wing tattoo making another appearance.

A clearing of a throat made them both look up to see a rather shy looking Harry standing there with his hands folded in front of him and his eyes straight forward, looking but not seeing.

"Pardon me, sirs, but Mr. Tomlinson, you have received a call from Ele-ahem sorry-Miss Calder."

Louis eyes, of course, widened at the thought. "Yes yes and?"

"Well she said that she will be stopping by for a few minutes."

"Are you kidding me? I'm obviously busy. Did she say why?"

Shit. "Um no she didn't. Just said that it was okay if she didn't come today, but it would be easier for the both of you."

"Right right ok. Um, I'm sorry, Mr. Malik but this is rather important. You are welcome to stay if you want."

"Thanks, Lou. Think I will. Got any liquor in the ol' cabinet that will go down nicely?"

"Oh yeah, uh, sure. Styles, go show him what we've got."

"Yes, sir."

Harry didn't even look to see if Zayn had gotten up to follow him. If there was one thing he knew about this man, it was that he couldn't refuse alcohol when it was being offered; plus that person who happened to be getting it was him.

"So, slaveboy. Seems the Tommo's got himself on a pretty tight leash. You know the girl?"

"The Tommo?"

"That is his name, isn't it?"

"It's Louis Tomlinson," he sneered back. Harry was already well aware of how much his master hated that name coming out of anyone's mouth, let alone a ratty looking client who couldn't care less about winning a case that Louis seemed to be slaving over, for some reason.

"Oh yeah? Is that what he tells you when..." Zayn leaned into Harry's ear, making sure to account for the shivers he sending up the younger man's body. "....he fucks you into the mattress in the moonlight?"

A gasp fell out of his mouth as he whipped around his entire body. He found is index finger pointed straight in the middle of Zayn's pecs.

"Now you know that's not true. My master thinks nothing of me; I'm barely worthy enough to be in his presence. How he hasn't dropped your case yet is still a mystery to me. You can man-handle me all you want, but don't touch Louis. He doesn't deserve your bullshit."

Harry expected a snide remark about his "two strikes" or something like that, but all he got in return was a smirk and hands held up in defense. "Right, right, sorry slaveboy. I'll-uh...try to remember that."

And with that, Zayn was out of the kitchen with a Bacardi in hand. Harry looked down at his own hands in shock. Had he really just said that to Zayn? Had he really just sworn at him, poked him, threatened him? He couldn't really tell, as an uneasy feeling came over him. Eleanor was coming over again, and Zayn was going to be there to meet her. What was he going to do? Not to mention what Louis would do in the presence of the girl he had been lusting after for so damn long?

There was nothing Harry could do, other than watch. It was what he was often forced to do, just observe his surroundings and take in everything that was happening. And now was the same, it was his only option. He found himself grabbing a bottle of beer for Louis (he knew that although alcohol did have a detrimental affect on Louis's behaviour sometimes, that behaviour was usually soppy and more tolerant) before walking back into the lounge. Zayn was now sat on the sofa with a leg tucked up underneath himself, the other draped down over the front of the chair. As he and Harry exchanged glances, that horrible and sinister smirk was soon laced on his lips with a hint of venom netted in also.

"I brought you a drink, sir." Harry spoke up, only for Louis to look up. His cheeks were slightly red, as if he was flushed, blue eyes wide.

"Oh thanks. Put it on the table, will you?" His voice matched his rushed persona. and he jumped up quickly, shuffling all the papers so they lay neatly in a flat pile, "I know Eleanor likes things done as soon as possible, but really? Today of all days?"

"I'm sorry, I can call her if you really want me to, postpone the visit?" Harry suggested, and Louis just shook his head.

"No need for that, don't worry."

"I can leave if that makes things easier." Zayn suggested, though his tone really showed that he had no intention of leaving Louis's house anytime soon. He was in for the ride, it was his intention to meet the woman that he knew Louis was completely obsessed with, the woman that he seemed to fawn over like she was the last flower left on an apocalyptic Earth.

"It might be easier if you stayed, you were bound to meet Eleanor some time soon." Louis sighed, and Harry watched as he patted the papers all into a neat rectangle so he could put them on the coffee table again neatly, "She's one of the people that are playing a role in your case, without her, it would go to the dirt."

"You sure seem quite amorous over this woman, don't you?" Zayn snickered, only for Louis to narrow his eyes in a melodramatic way and then shrug the accusation off of his shoulders and out of his mind, "You got a thing for her, Tomlinson?"

"Even if I did, that would be none of your business, now would it, Zayn?" Louis snapped, his cool barrier falling tremendously quickly. In an attempt to calm slightly, he took a swig of the beer that Harry had brought through for him, sighing as the familiar burning sensation let his tension bubble down once again. He let himself sit down again, leaving Harry stood again on his own, sticking out like a fox in a chicken coop.

"So, what else is to be done with this case before we can get to work on suing the little shit that killed my bike?" Zayn demanded, his feet returning back up onto the coffee table. Feet narrowly missed the stack of papers, but Louis managed to quickly slide them out of the way, "Because it sure seems like we're sitting around trying to look like pretty faces."

"You're definitely not succeeding with that then." Louis grumbled, but Harry heard him. He couldn't help but let a small snort of hilarity leave his mouth, only making him clamp a firm hand over his lips, realising that both Louis and Zayn had heard the sound, that in his opinion, was awful. Zayn just rolled his eyes, whereas Louis was slightly stunned at the fact that Harry had actually laughed at a joke he'd made, and the fact that the sound that had exited Harry's mouth had sounded like something a small child would make whilst being tickled.

"Sorry." Harry rushed, then proceeded to quickly run out of the room at the sound of a doorbell ringing throughout the house. Zayn shot Louis a look of contempt and disdain at his failed attempt of a joke, only to receive a nonchalent shrug and a distasteful expression in return.

Moments later, Harry returned again, Eleanor just behind him. At the sight of the pretty woman, Zayn took his feet off of the coffee table, though Harry really wasn't sure why. It wasn't as if he was into girls at all, so why did the presence of a lady affect his manners? Maybe he had just been brought up well, reared correctly by his family, only for his life to come crashing down when he moved out. That really was the most reasonable explanation.

"Zayn, this is Eleanor, otherwise known as Miss Calder." Louis stood, as did his client, gesturing to the woman that was now shrugging off her coat and gratefully handing it to Harry with a slight bow of her head and a smile that conveyed everything Harry was never shown, gratitude being the main feature.

"Nice to meet you, Mr?" Eleanor asked after Zayn and herself had shaken hands, expressing a warm smile, trying to be as welcoming as possible.

"Malik. But seriously, call me Zayn." The client reciprocated the expression, only for Eleanor to giggle slightly. Louis wore a permanent scowl on his face, of which did not go unnoticed as Harry re-entered the room again to observe the two guests exchanging pleasantries.

"On the condition that you call me Eleanor."

The two continued to talk, Zayn offering her a seat on the sofa. Louis did not sit also, but instead began to storm out of the room, mumbling under his breath that he needed another drink, despite the fact that there was still a whole half bottle of his beverage stood on the table. Harry didn't object when his master pushed past him, but rather decided to follow instead. To his interest, he saw that Louis actually went into his office instead, and with an uplifted heart, saw that he also left the door slightly open as he walked in white rage.

Harry had always been told not to eavesdrop, but technically, this couldn't be classed as that. Instead he was watching, watching as Louis stood at his desk and gripped at the wood until his knuckles turned from a deep red into a ghostly white. It was quite infuriating watching Louis angry and not being able to help, but for starters, Louis had no idea that Harry had followed him, and two, Harry had really no idea why his master was so stuck in this rage. It had really started when Zayn and Eleanor had been getting along so well. Why had it had this much effect on him though? Surely jealously was not that strong that it pushed Louis to a limit such as this?

Voices in Harry's head debated whether or not to walk into the room and comfort the older male that was obviously stressing over something, but they were cut short when the sound of his mobile ringing cut through them. He saw Louis visibly freeze in the office, realising that someone was only just stood outside the door, and Harry saw his blue eyes (noticeably filled with confusion) look up at him. It was the fastest Harry had moved in a while, his feet quickly moving away from the door and to the privacy of his own room.

Without looking at the caller I.D, he put the mobile to his ear, not really registering that hardly anyone called him around this time of the day. In fact, nobody really rung him at all anymore; his mother and Gemma maybe called up once a fortnight and spoke for five minutes, exchanging words such as 'I miss you' or 'make sure you come and visit soon'. Harry hadn't visited in at least a year, the hole that once ached at the thought of his family had guiltily been filled. It was as if family wasn't a detrimental part of his being anymore, replaced with the preoccupations of work and sex. Now he thought about it, it really made him feel like a shit person.

"Hello?" Harry rasped down the line, clearing his throat quickly afterwards with two short and blunt coughs.

"Hello, is this Styles?" Although it was a woman's voice, Harry knew instantly what the conversation of this phone call would consist of. Other than Louis, only clients really referenced him by his surname. And it sent a chill down his back. He really wasn't in the mood for a female client this evening; although the after effects weren't as painful the morning after a session, women were often known to be guilty of manhandling men, especially the ones that Harry came across.

"Yes, it is. Who's this speaking?" Harry asked, wanting to make sure that it was indeed a client, and not just someone accidentally calling a nickname.

"This is Jennifer, Jenny Adams. We had a session about three weeks ago."

"Oh yes, hello Jennifer." Harry wanted to sound as convincing as possible, and so his voice held a tone of lust, but seemed to also be tinged with a purr, "Are you wanting to book an appointment with me?"

"Yeah, my husband is really being a dick, and the stress of my kids really pisses me off, and I need a quick fuck and then I'm sure I'll be fine for a few more months." Harry hated the fact that she was married, if the secret that she was having sex with him ever reached her spouse, then Harry would more than likely be accused of breaking up a whole family.

"When were you thinking?"

"Tonight would be great, husband's out on a fishing trip and kids are at my mum's, so I have a free house." She explained, and Harry felt himself want to cry. Tonight? Louis wasn't going out, there was no way he'd be able to leave subtly unless it was in the dead of night. Jennifer obviously noticed his hesitation and sighed, "I'll pay you double if you come tonight." Double pay was amazing, it would certainly been used well by Gemma and Anne. So he sucked up all the thoughts he was having and gripped his mobile tighter.

"Text me you're address and I'll be at yours for midnight."

 

\-----

 

Louis had been sure that he'd seen someone at the door to the office, but they'd scuttled away before he could see exactly who it had been. If it was down to common sense, it had most likely would have been Harry; he wasn't the one that had been getting on with Eleanor like a house on fire, so it was logical that he would have followed. But why was the question. Louis knew exactly why, but he didn't want to tell anyone. Not yet, anyway.

With a clearer mind and a mindset that was slightly more positive than the one he had previously been stuck in, Louis walked out of the office again and back to the lounge. Instantly, he was met with the sight of Eleanor perched daintily on one side of the sofa, Zayn on the other, both of them smiling and chatting. Wow, he really knew how to charm people when he wanted to, didn't he? An image of Zayn and Eleanor happily getting on with their lives as a couple flashed through Louis's he breathed deeply and walked further in the room.

Before he could reach his previous seat, the sensation of someone watching him from behind rushed through his body. Turning cautiously, two green eyes quickly looked away, before looking up again. A hint of surprise flashed through Harry's features as Louis shot him a smile that showed no teeth. Again, with surprise this time radiating from Louis, Harry returned the beam, standing with his shoulder almost against Louis's looking diagonally down at him.

"Was it you by the door, Styles?" Louis asked, that glint of amusement in his voice.

"Which door, sir?" It was obvious that Harry was attempting to sound like he had no clue, but the pink tinge on his cheekbones seemed to indicate he really knew the answer to his own question.

"The door to my office, remember that one?" Louis folded his arms over his chest, turning so his whole body was now facing his servant. Harry did the same, realising that his master was now only taking the piss out of him.

"I think so, the one that hardly ever gets used because you never do any work?" Louis feigned upset, and Harry just played along, the sound of Eleanor laughing mingling into the background.

"You're well spoken, aren't you Styles?" Louis laughed, and Harry rolled his eyes, "Maybe you're not as boring as you used to be."

"I was not boring, sir, just.." Harry searched for the word, Louis smirking the whole duration, "Alright, maybe I was a little boring, but in my defense I-"

"Tomlinson, stop flirting, get over here!" Zayn's voice was almost shrill, but not so much that it made either Harry or Louis wince at the pitch. Instead Louis froze at the accusation that he could be 'flirting', looking for something to retort the sentence with. Harry was puzzled, surely Louis would have had no hesitation to fire something equally as degrading back.

"Oh, sorry." Louis then glanced at Harry for the last time and shuffled over to the sofa, sitting down in the small arm chair, looking to where Eleanor and Zayn were sat, and then began to speak about the approach they were to make towards Zayn's case.

The chat lasted for a whole one and a half hours, Louis and Eleanor mentally drained after working out how they were going to try and win Zayn's case for him, the client himself not really inputting all that much. Instead he sat back, feet not on the coffee table but still up beside him on the sofa, listening half to the conversations that affected his future, other half of his interest on the television that was flickering on a comedy film.

Harry had since retreated to his room, Louis allowing him some time to himself, saying that he really wasn't that hungry this evening, so there was no point in Harry cooking. Louis had presumed that Harry would have left to go and read, or indulge in a simple past time, or maybe even call his family. In fact, Harry had actually scuttled upstairs to try and work out how he was going to get to his client's house this evening under the watchful eye of his master, but Louis didn't need to know that.

At the point that Zayn let out a rather hearty laugh at a one ling joke, Louis rolled his eyes, grabbed the tv remote, and switched off the screen.

"What was that for? I was watching that you dickwad." When Zayn remembered that he was in the presence of a woman, he stiffened and looked at Eleanor, "Oh god, I'm sorry, that was so rude-"

"I hear it all the time, don't worry. It's frequent when you've got Louis as a boss." She smiled politely, much to Louis's distaste, "I also wasn't brought up in a home that was afraid to swear, I've heard so many curse words that I could probably be able to fill an A4 page with them." At the mention of her past, Eleanor tried to hide the emotions that flashed briefly across her face, but not quickly enough that Louis didn't catch them. He made a mental note to ask her, but he would more than likely forget.

"It's a shame Tommo's been hiding you away, you're a funny one, you are." Zayn admired, and Louis rolled his eyes.

"Alright, that's enough." He pointed his pen at Zayn in a threatening manner, but instead the gesture was met with a snort of disapproval, "Plus, my name isn't Tommo, how many times do I have to tell you that?"

"Oh please excuse me Sire, I forgot how you hate being referred to as something so dreadfully informal." Zayn sneered, and Louis's face dropped. Instantly he reached in front of himself, rearranging the papers and standing up with due force and aggression.

"I think we're done for today, that's all we have to do."

"But we still have to go over cost and-" Eleanor interjected and Louis let a cold glare land on her.

"As I said, that's all we have to do today." The emphasis was really placed on Louis's last word, and Eleanor understood that now was probably a good time to leave.

"Alright then, if you're sure." Zayn looked dumbfounded as the woman also stood up, "I'll just go and get my coat."

She began to walk away. and instantly Louis followed like a lost sheep trying to relocate his shepard. It was evident that Eleanor knew she had company following in her footsteps, and as soon as she was out of the boundaries of the lounge, whirled around, looking directly at her boss.

"Now what was that for? I know you can be moody, Louis, but that was something else." Her accusation was in a tone that suggested she was not in the best of moods, mainly because Louis had shown one of the rudest displays of behavior she had ever encountered.

"I'm just not too fond of him, is all." Louis replied truthfully, though when Eleanor didn't look like she was fully bought on the idea that that was the only thing wrong, sighed in an exasperated state, "I've just been really uptight recently, stuff's been going on."

"What type of stuff?" Eleanor's face remained stern, and much to Louis's disgust, Zayn appeared in the doorway behind her, not in her view so she had no idea that he was watching, "Whatever it is, it sure seems like it's a pretty big deal Louis."

"I really don't want to talk about it, really, stop asking." Louis rubbed the back of his neck, then realised that he'd given off the wrong impression, "Oh shit, no sorry, I didn't mean it in a rude way, I-"

"No I get it, whatever it is, it really must be catastrophic." She was bitter, and instantly turned around, back to Louis, ready to leave. Her feet quickly carried her away from her boss, and when the sound of a door slamming sounded, presumably out of the house also. Footsteps carried down the staircase, followed soon after by the tall, green-eyed figure that was Harry. He tensed slightly when Zayn flashed him a smirk, timidly receding a step backwards, though Louis didn't catch on.

"Judging by the way you managed that, anyone would think you were gay." Zayn laughed, only for Louis to look at the floor embarrassed. All of a sudden, a wave of realisation flooded over the top of Zayn's head, his brown eyes went wide, and he put a hand to his mouth, only removing it to speak again, "Oh my god, you're-"

"Get in my office now." Louis growled, but before he even began to wait for an answer from Zayn, he tugged on his wrist, whisking his client to the private room of his office, leaving a bewildered Harry behind. What had just happened? He shrugged and carried on into the lounge to tidy up the beer bottles and cider cans.

But Zayn and Louis now stood in the confines of the once never used room, Louis pulling the door to behind himself, turning quickly to meet a pair of humored brown eyes staring at him.

"You're fucking gay!" Zayn exclaimed, and Louis just took a step forwards and grabbed a fistful of his shirt, "Now now, if you wanted to fuck me over the desk, all you had to do was ask nicely." The sneer in Zayn's voice was enough to completely set Louis off, and he tightened his hold even more, surprising Zayn with his strength.

"Listen here, I am not gay, okay?" Louis strained, trying to lower his naturally high voice an octave lower, "I am just, uh.." He trailed off, letting his fistful of fabric loosen also.

"You were saying?" Zayn was full on smiling, leaving Louis to be flustered and feeling like he was going to have a panic attack at any moment.

"I may or may not be... confused, if that's the word." Louis whispered, and Zayn shrugged, the one response Louis had not expected him to come out with, "Aren't you going to make a faggot joke?"

"No, considering I'm gay myself." Zayn dug his hands into his pockets, and Louis almost waited for the punchline of the joke. When he realised it was the truth, Louis folded his arms.

"So that flirting with Eleanor, that wasn't flirting?"

"Far from it, she wouldn't even be my type if I was straight to be honest. Too prissy. But I can see why someone like you would go for her." Zayn teased, "That is, if you want to still tap that."

"Your terminology is so stupid." Louis tutted, "I'm just really not sure to be honest, it's all overwhelming."

"Tell you what," Zayn started, "In a weeks time, tell me if you're still undecided, okay?"

"Why would I want to do that?" Louis questioned, wanting to know exactly why his love life had to be spread out like butter for Zayn.

"Because if you're still on the border, there are ways to try and see which you prefer. You never know, you might like a bit of both, but without experimenting, you'll never have any clue, will you?" Louis nodded in agreement, realising that, although there was a feeling of despise and hatred towards this mysterious and slightly arrogant figure in front of him, Zayn was only trying to help.

"Fine. I'll tell you in a week." Zayn extended his hand, confusing the older man, "What are you doing?"

"You've got to shake on stuff like this." He declared, and Louis rolled his eyes, though returned the gesture, watching as Zayn's eyes lit up substantially. Louis really didn't have any idea why his client seemed so much warmer now that he had revealed the one thing that had been bothering him, but he chose to ignore it. If it meant they got on slightly better, it was worth it.

 

\-----

 

Harry walked back through the front door at around two thirty in the morning and the first thing he did was throw off his jumper and stretch his back. If anyone had been watching him, they would have seen the small ripples as his strong and lean muscles contracted, but nobody was around. Or that's what Harry thought.

He really disliked his female clients; it was nothing personal, he just wasn't a fan of engaging in straight sex. Although it was the way that the Bible said people should engage in sexual intercourse, Harry really didn't see the pleasure in it at all. But it meant that he got equally good money, sometimes even more because women were more obliged to give tips. Thinking about it, Harry relished in the fact that it really was all ridiculous, but got on with his business nevertheless.

Kicking his shoes off before picking them up (he couldn't leave them in sight of Louis otherwise there would be endless questions) to take to his room, Harry froze. The loud clatter of metal against metal resounded through the lounge and into the small hallway Harry was stood in, and he panicked. There was no way that that sound had been made by anyone other than a person. Someone was awake, and there was only one someone that it could be.

Muttering various profanities under his breath, Harry wondered whether he'd be able to make a getaway without being seen by Louis, but instantly that thought was diminished when a stooped figure poked their head round the doorway to the kitchen, frowning. Shirtless, wearing just a pair of plaid pyjama bottoms, stood Louis.

"Harry?" Louis's voice was slightly groggy, and Harry sighed, "What are you doing? Did you just come in?" Thoughts of making up a lie appeared, and instantly Harry had an idea.

"Yeah I did, I told you where I was going, didn't I?" Harry played it off, walking towards Louis cautiously, the light from the kitchen softening both their features.

"No you didn't, I would have remembered that Harry." Louis was firm in his accusations, and walked into the kitchen. Harry followed, watching as Louis went back to doing what he had previously been doing, which had been filling up a glass of water.

"What are you doing awake?" He attempted to change the subject, only for Louis to narrow his eyes and turn off the tap.

"I was thirsty, what about you?" Well the plan of changing the subject obviously had failed.

"I went to the grocery store."

"Where's your bags?"

"I left them in the car." Harry was digging himself deeper and deeper into a hole of lies, and soon there would be no way to escape.

"Why didn't you bring them in?"

"Too late to do that, I was tired."

"Then why the fuck did you go shopping at two in the freaking morning?" Louis slammed his glass on the side, and ever so faintly, Harry noticed the faint smell of alcohol. He frowned, and then slowly lent closer to Louis, realising that it was coming from none other than his master.

"Louis, have you been drinking?" Harry questioned, realising that Louis was both drunk and tired, a combination of which meant he would most indefinitely not remember any of this when he woke up.

"So what if I have, it's not like you would have been home to stop me." A hiccup high in pitch exited from Louis's mouth, and Harry felt the guilt wash over him. He'd left, only to let Louis drink alone in the early hours of the morning, something that could have been prevented if only he'd been at home.

"I think it's time you go back to bed Louis." Harry couldn't help but let his gaze travel slightly to Louis's bare chest, but instantly reverted it again, despite the fact it was flawlessly perfect, "Come on, finish your water. It's late."

"Ironic saying it's late when you only just got through the door." Louis grumbled, then took his glass and drank the whole pint in one go.

Harry had come to realise that when Louis had alcohol running through his system, he had a different mood depending on the level of intoxication he was at. When he was seriously drunk and almost to the point of getting alcohol poisoning, he was childish and annoying, yet it was the cute side of Louis. His refused to do things, liked to question every single order or sentence directed at him, giggled like he had seen the most marvelous thing in the world and spoke his mind. That was good in some ways, but Harry had also found it to be slightly weird too, just like the other night when he'd been called 'pretty'.

The other personality that Louis held during his periods when he was only slightly drunk was the sassy one. Never afraid to backchat, quick to snap if he didn't think things were going his way, no trace of fear whatsoever. It always scared Harry slightly, because he was worried that somehow Louis would find a way to get all his secrets out of him, but he never had. Instead Harry had realised that if he just diverted Louis with new questions, it was the easiest way to go about it. But there was always that outright defiance that was irking, but finding a way round Louis's behavior seemed the best way to get through it all. Occasionally Louis seemed to flicker through both the emotions, and that was again, a perplexing subject to Harry.

It was evident that Louis really was not the least bit happy, and his journey up the stairs (with heavy stomping and occasional sighs) signified this. When he got to the door of his room he quickly went in, Harry stood awkwardly.

"Well, night then." Harry said, and Louis turned quickly on his heel, a look of confusion on his features.

"What?" Louis whispered.

"What's wrong?"

"I thought you said that you were going to put me to bed?" Harry chuckled softly.

"I don't remember ever saying that." Despite the fact that he knew it would be best to get to bed himself so there was less chance of Louis remembering anything, Harry walked into his master's room, "Get into bed then."

Louis obliged, strangely, hopping over to his bed and then cocooning himself into the sheets. Harry was at a loss for what to do, so instead stood in the middle of the room, watching as the grown man suddenly reverted to the persona of a five year old. Stupid mood swings.

"Well, good night Louis." Harry smiled, going to walk away again. When there was a pitiful sound, almost like the one a lost kitten would make, and Harry just groaned inwardly.

"Can you come and sit on the bed and talk to me?" Louis pleaded, and Harry conflicted with himself. He knew that he really shouldn't be prolonging the conversation with Louis, but his behaviour had changed dramatically, and how could he really say no?

"Fine, but not for long, okay?" Louis nodded feverishly, and Harry made his way over to sit on the side of the double bed that Louis wasn't tucked up in. He folded his legs up underneath himself, watching the blue eyed boy who seemed to have changed into a completely different person.

"Where were you tonight?" Louis yawned, exposing his tiny pointed canines, "It was lonely."

And then he shut his eyes, not bothering to listen to a reply, letting his breathing decrease. Within minutes, he was asleep, and Harry just sat for a few seconds, allowing everything to seep in. So nearly, he had been caught but his master, his whole life potentially ready to falter in front of his eyes. The stern and cold personality that had been Louis only seconds earlier had dissipated as soon as he'd reached his room, which was utterly outstanding.

But Harry simply left the room (not without a last look at Louis in his slumber) and went into his, immediately collapsing onto his bed, looking up at the ceiling as if the bland white swirls held the answers to all the unsolved questions swimming in his brain. Just when Harry had thought his life was going relatively on track, things blew way out of proportion, and here he was, back at square one yet again.


	11. Chapter 11

"Morning."

That was the first thing Harry heard someone say the following morning. It was such a simple word, and it could have been interpreted as either a simple statement or a greeting, but Harry took it as a greeting nonetheless. It was obviously an attempt of Louis's to try and be slightly less crude to his employee.

"Morning, do you want anything to eat, sir?" Harry questioned as he put a dirty glass into the confines of the dishwasher, pushing the tray back into the contraption before shutting the lid and pressing the power button. A soft whirring immediately sounded from it, and Harry lent against it was he watched Louis slump at one of the bar stools, eyes squinted shut.

"Just a glass of water thanks." Louis mumbled, letting his hands run down the length of his face, a sigh of exasperation falling from his lips.

His blue eyes were hidden behind his abnormally small hands, and Harry felt a longing to see them and to analyse exactly what was running through them. Ignoring the longing, pushing it as far as he could into the corner of his mind, Harry reached up for a glass, not needing to stand on his tiptoes to get one, and then shut the cupboard again. It made a loud bang as it closed back on its hinges, and Louis flinched.

"Sorry." The servant apologised as Louis pressed two fingers to his temple and rubbed soothingly in a circular motion.

"How the fuck do I have such a bad hangover." The tone of Louis's voice was more like a groan, and he suddenly froze. Very slowly he took his hands away from his face, cerulean pools of ice hardly visible behind two very large pupils, "What did I say last night?"

"Say? I don't understand, sir." Harry cocked his head to the side. Now that he could see Louis's eyes, he wished he couldn't. Confusion, anger and worry all seemed to be laced in them, almost painful to look at.

"What did I do last night when I was drunk?" Louis rushed, now standing up. Harry shrugged, filling up the glass with water, letting the tap nearly cause the liquid to spill over the top and flow down through the metal drain.

"Not anything out of the ordinary, sir. Just acted.. drunk, I guess."

"So I didn't say anything weird?" Louis pressed as Harry pushed the glass onto the counter within his master's reach.

"Not that I can recall, no sir." Harry was lying slightly, Louis had actually asked Harry to sit with him for a while when he should have been sleeping, but he didn't think that was really necessary to bring up. If Louis hadn't remembered it, then surely it wasn't that bad, "You just got up to get a glass of water, and then I sent you on your way back to bed."

But really Louis was just trying to find out whether he'd spilt the secret that he'd told Zayn yesterday. Whether he'd told Harry 'oh you know what? I think I'm gay!'. Pure terror, dread and trepidation were clawing away at his insides, the feelings combining to feel as if there was some sort of animal stuck in his ribcage and trying to get out, constantly sending shots of consternation and alarm all through his being.

"Why did you ask?" Harry approached the conversation topic carefully, but Louis just grabbed his glass of water and shook his head.

"No matter, no matter." The repetition of the small phrase really didn't sound all that assured, but Harry just got on with what he had been doing which had been cleaning the counter tops. After about a minute of the consuming silence, Harry stopped working, seeing that Louis was now sat down again at the breakfast island, eyes completely focused on the water in the glass that was stood in front of him.

"Do you have anything to do today, Mr. Tomlinson?" Harry posed, and Louis shook his head.

"No, nothing, other than sort out Zayn's shitty papers." Hands once again came to cover his face and rub over his face, "I don't even know why I fucking put myself up to doing cases personally, I somehow always seem to land up with the dicks."

"You don't like Zayn, sir?" This wasn't really surprising to be fair, Zayn really wasn't the nicest guy to be around, but then again he wasn't the worst offender to ever live.

"He's just a stuck-up prick that thinks he owns every fucking thing and is always right, and it really pisses me off." Louis looked up, blue eyes shining, "So, other than that, he's great."

Harry allowed himself to laugh, his head tilting backwards as the chuckles reverberated through his chest. Louis also let out a small sigh of amusement at his own joke, eyes trained on his servant.

It was obvious that Harry was a good looking guy, everyone who passed through the house commented on it, even the guys such as Liam and Niall. He had that personality that made you admire him, and his looks were ones that made you envious that he put such little effort into his appearance yet still looked flawless. Whenever Harry was complimented by guests of the house, he never usually said anything but would often smile at the person who had praised him. But that smile was one of disbelief, one that showed how he thought whatever had been said was absolute shit.

But Harry could only ever see himself in two circumstances; when he looked at a photo that had been taken of him, or if he looked in a reflective surface such as a mirror. He never saw the times that he laughed and his mouth parted slightly and his teeth were bared slightly as the harmonious noise exited his lips. He never saw the times that his eyes lit up when he saw his family or a good friend, and the way that the green somehow managed to intensify so it was a shining emerald among a sea of ink. And he never saw the times he truly smiled, the times where he grinned and was just so euphonious that nothing else mattered in that moment, other than all things that made him happy.

Louis hadn't really appreciated Harry in this way before, but now that he was questioning everything, Harry seemed to be the only thing that was staying constant at this moment in time. Constantly there, never standing down, always there for him. Eleanor had really opened Louis's eyes, shone him that the one person that was constantly around actually deserved respect, because he could leave anytime he could, and yet he hadn't. He'd stayed, all through Louis's toils and troubles, and Louis found himself almost wanting to just tell Harry how much he was appreciated. But he didn't. Louis just watched as Harry loaded a few more plates into the dishwasher, before closing the lid and turning on the tap to clean his hands.

"You know you said earlier that I got up to get a glass of water?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Why were you awake?"

Harry stilled noticeably, turned the tap off and turned to lean his hip against the worktop and survey Louis's face.

"I-uh, I-" The stammering helped trigger something in Louis's brain and he narrowed his eyes.

"You went out last night, didn't you?" Louis accused and Harry aura of calmness seemed to diminish the fastest that it ever had in any situation before.

"Uh, I, um, I-"

"Stop stuttering and answer me, Styles." Louis growled as he stood, the water inside his glass rippling as the barstool clunked against the kitchen island.

"Yes, I went out last night, sir."

"Where?"

"Just to the shops, we needed more milk."

Louis scoffed, and began to walk over to the fridge. Harry shifted uncomfortably as his master opened the heavy door to the chilled compartment and followed Louis with his eyes. The older male scanned over the door to the fridge, the inside of it holding a jug of chilled water, two cartons of apple juice, a jar of tomato pasata, a bottle of Pepsi Max and several bottles of wine. But no milk.

The door was slammed, and Louis turned quickly, folding his arms. Harry backed into the counter, pleading in his head that maybe he could disappear and just evaporate from life on earth. But reality was a bitch and this wasn't a video game where he could reset and start over whenever he wanted.

"Care to explain?" Louis was threatening, his eyes blazing, lips trained in a thin line, "Where the fuck where you?"

There was absolutely no way that he could disclose where he actually had been. There was no way in hell that Harry was going to spill his secret to Louis now. And there was certainly no way in hell that he could make up a believable excuse in such a short amount of time. So Harry did what he thought would be best and lied. Unfortunately he wasn't very good at lying at all.

"I was at Eleanor's house."

Instantly he regretted the five words that had just his lips. Eleanor was seriously the one person that Harry knew he should never have even thought about mentioning in a lie, Louis was so overprotective of her, despite the fact that the woman made it perfectly clear that she wanted nothing romantic with her boss.

"You were where?" Louis blinked, emphasis on his last word.

"I was at, um, Eleanor's house, sir."

"Eleanor. As in Eleanor Calder?"

"Yes, sir." Shit, Harry was in for a load of trouble. He knew that asking Eleanor to chip in on his lie meant having to explain everything to her, dirty secret and all the rest. And now was not the right time. In his opinion, there would never be a 'right time'.

"And do you want to explain to me why you were there before I assume something close to the worst?" Louis asked, the hatred almost searing through the air and encasing itself around Harry's entire being, "Or are you going to make up some bullshit story about how you went over to just 'hang out'." His hands moved from their folded position to put air quotes around his last two words, and Harry gulped.

"We were just talking, sir, nothing more."

"Yeah right." Louis scoffed before just rolling his eyes, "Get out of my sight."

"But-"

"Get out of my fucking sight, Styles. Do I have to ask you again?"

Harry knew that he had approximately three seconds to get out before Louis began shouting, and Harry had never been a fan of arguments and confrontation in general. So he exited swiftly from the room, and decided the best thing to do was to call Eleanor to simply ask her to play along.

Trying to rack his brain to remember where he'd last put his mobile, Harry realised that it was in his own bedroom, and so made his way as quickly as possible, taking the stairs two at a time. The feat was easy with his long, deer like legs, and so he was sat on his bed, scrolling through his contacts to find Eleanor's name in no time.

It only took three rings down the line for the girl to pick up on the other end, and Harry was instantaneously overwhelmed with the laughter that phased through the background of the setting that Eleanor was obviously in.

"Hello, Eleanor here!"

"Hello Eleanor, it's Harry."

"Oh what a pleasant surprise Harry!" She sounded joyous and at peace, and Harry felt guilty that what he was about to ask might just ruin her day, "What brings your call?"

"I just wondered if, maybe, you could do me a favour?" He kept his voice low, as if he was worried that maybe Louis would somehow hear, even though he nevercame within close range of Harry's room.

"What's wrong, Harry?" It wasn't a definite yes, yet it wasn't a firm no either, "Harry? You still there?"

"Yeah, sorry Eleanor." He apolgised quickly, "I was wondering whether, um, if Louis was to call you..."

"Go on."

"Could you tell him I was at your house last night?"

There was a steady breathing down the line, and Harry shuffled in an agitated manner. A quiet exhale of breath rattled through the speaker of the mobile, followed by a reply coated in a tone that Harry really wasn't familiar with.

"Sure thing, it's no problem. If he asks, you stayed the night, right?"

"No, just into the early hours of the morning. Thank you Eleanor."

"It's alright Harry." She paused for a moment before breathing through the line, "Can I ask something?"

Harry felt that it was only polite to answer in one way, so he did.

"Yes, of course." The question that he was anticipating was engraved into his mind, but Eleanor just completely dumped a different one on his head. Why do you need to pretend? Why did you lie to him?

"Why do you stay and work for Louis?" It was a genuine question, no hint of sarcasm nor teasing within it, "I've seen the way that he talks to you, I've seen the way he treats you. Why do you do it?"

Harry tucked his legs up underneath him so he was sat cross-legged, spare hand resting on his knee. It was a question that he'd been asked before, once by Liam and on more than two occasions by Eleanor, but the way that she'd phrased it this time in such an intimate discussion was overwhelming. Harry really didn't want to contemplate the answer at all, he knew that all the positives of staying would be well outweighed by the negatives, so he didn't want to think. He just got on with life and didn't want to remember that he could leave, because in a certain respect, he couldn't. There was no way he could pack up his bags and be on his way; he'd established a new life here in this house, even though many wouldn't even see it as a 'life'.

So quickly he tried to compose himself and relaxed his shoulders that for some reason had been up by his ears in defense. Swapping his phone to the other hand, Harry slowly replied.

"Because it brings in good money. Plus, I can't leave him."

"You could leave Louis, you know that Harry." The laughter in the background of Eleanor's side of the phone had quietened down, as if she had moved away from the hustle of the action to talk privately, "If you want to leave, then you're entitled to, you know that?"

"I know. But I can't, Miss Calder, I really can't." The phrase of her surname combined with her title slipped from Harry's mouth almost too easily, dawning on him how much he really had changed. The 16 year old who loved life and saw it as a dip in the horizon had been transformed into this boy who, despite his age, had the intellect of a grown man. Molded and forced to age, Harry was someone who really had enough experiences already to last a lifetime.

"Just think about it Harry, will you?" When Harry mumbled an 'I will', they bid farewell to one another and then hung up, leaving Harry to fall back onto the mattress.

Overthinking was what caused most of Harry's problems, so he attempted to divert his mind on the soft rays that bounced through the window. Swirls of dust caressed the air, illuminated by the intensity of the sun from outside. It was a nice day, despite the fact that the forecast had said to expect rain all day, but the downpour had held off so far and so the day was clear and warm. It was also unusual for it to be this nice in the middle of November; usually by now the cold London air was suffocating and got into every nook and cranny of every house.

For the next ten minutes, Harry let himself lay there, an activity that he didn't usually let his body partake in, but now it was needed. Not to overthink, but more to relax and let himself drift off. It was fairly successful, and he was letting his eyes become slightly hooded when his mobile began to ring again. Limbs stiff, he expected the caller I.D to show Eleanor's name, but it didn't. Instead it was a name that he was happy and excited to read, and so he propped himself up against his headboard and pressed the answer button.

"Gemma! Hi!"

"Hey stranger!" He could almost sense the mocking in her voice, but he knew that it was all good-natured.

Harry let a smile surpass his lips as he cradled the phone against his ear. It was always a relief to hear his sister's voice; reassuring to say the least, nice to know that she thought about him and decided to call him simply because she felt like doing so. Even though in their younger days, the two siblings hadn't gotten on all that well, now there was a substantial distance between them, it seemed to be like this brother-sister force kept them connected like two magnets.

"How have you been then?" Harry asked, and he heard Gemma laugh on the other end of the phone.

"Busy as always, but where's the change in that, huh?" She sounded slightly sad and fatigued, and there was constantly that guilt within Harry's heart that he couldn't do anything about that, "How's things with you? Still working hard?"

"I guess you could say that." Harry mused, knowing that Gemma was simply referring to his job as a servant. She had no idea about his midnight life, "Mum doing alright?"

"Still on the hunt for a job, she's put in about 15 job applications recently, and I'm just worried about her Haz. I'm scared not a single one will even take a second glance at her CV, and that'd mean that all the jobs she's applied for have said no. It can feel how disheartened she is just by looking at her, and she's just always worried about income."

"You know that I've got that covered! I've told her before that if you three need anymore money, then I'd get a rise somehow!" Harry's worry overtook him, just as it always did when he spoke to any member of his family.

"Harry, Harry, calm it, seriously." Gemma reassured him, "She's doing it mainly so she can tell people she's not unemployed anymore. The three of us are more than fine with your graciousness.

Harry once again calmed, and he cleared his head. He thought about Gemma and Anne and Leo. Speaking of Leo...

"How's the little monster?" Harry chimed, and again Gemma chortled at the reference to Leo.

"Missing you as ever, he needs his Uncle Harry." He sighed sadly at the mention of his nephew; Gemma's son.

Leo was the primary reason why Harry felt obliged to send back all his wages. Leo was the reason that he stayed with Louis to get paid. Leo was the reason Harry was so determined to make sure his family had enough money. Harry saw Leo as a mini version of himself; bright-eyed, curious, ready for everything with a whole future ready for him. Harry wanted the best for his nephew, he wanted to give him all the chances that he himself had never been able to establish. Aspirations, dreams, hope; things Harry had felt himself lose grip on at such a tender age. Leo deserved so much more; not that Harry didn't, but he was defiant on making sure that his sister's son seized all the opportunities that he never even came within arm's length of.

"I miss him so much. It's been over a year, how old is he now?" Harry questioned.

"He's four now, it's weird to see how much he's grown, you'll be surprised whenever you next see him Harry."

"It really has been too long, seriously Gemma. I miss you and Mum, and I miss home."

"Then why don't you leave? I'm sure Louis would be very understanding-" She was cut off short but a shrill voice in the background, "Not now Leo, I'm on the phone to someone."

"Who is it Mummy?" The four year old's voice was muffled, but still distinctive, "It's not Daddy again, is it?"

"No, it's Uncle Harry."

"Can I speak? Let me speak to him Mummy!" Harry laughed as Gemma quickly passed the phone to her son, "Uncle Harry!"

"Hi buddy, how are you?"

"I'm good, how are you Uncle Harry?" The young kid's persistence to add the words 'Uncle Harry' after everything made Harry's heart hurt yet again.

"I'm good thank you mate, what have you been up to recently? Have you been a good boy for Mummy?"

"Uh, kinda, Mummy told me off because I came home from school with grass-stains on the trousers that she washed and she told me off in front of Charlie and Jacob and Gordon and Lottie and Rhys." Leo rattled off all of these names of his class mates that Harry had obviously never met, but listened anyway, "And it was really embarrassing Uncle Harry, I really didn't like it but I apologised to Mummy and she said it was alright if I didn't do it again."

"Of course, that's right, you started school didn't you!" Harry exclaimed, purposefully making his voice sound more exciting than usual, "How is it?"

"It's really good, I drew a picture of you actually Uncle Harry! I really want to show it to you though."

"You can whenever I next see you buddy, I promise."

"And we can get ice cream?!" Leo pronounced, and Harry just hummed happily.

"Yes, we can get ice cream."

"Swear on your life Uncle Harry?"

"Swear on my life, buddy."

"Okay, I'll pass you back to Mummy. Love you Uncle Harry!"

"Love you too, see you soon." There was a soft shuffling, a call out for Gemma from Leo, and then another few seconds of static before Gemma's sigh resounded through the line again.

"It's actually unreal how much he looks up to you, you know."

"He's just as I remember him though, bubbly and bright."

"Yeah, that's Leo. My little lion cub."

"Did I hear correctly by the way?" Harry diverted, "Has Chris been bothering you again?"

"Harry, don't start this ag--"

"No, Gemma, this isn't right. He pissed off when you needed him, why should you bother about him now?"

"He's still Leo's father, I can't just do that Harry. I understand you feel so strongly about the fact he just left, but he had his reasons. I was only 19, so was he, he obviously thought that he couldn't manage a kid."

"But he had no right to just leave, Gemma. No one should do that to anyone when they need them."

"And again, I understand you have your opinions, but honestly, Chris isn't bothering me any more than he has before. You have no need to worry about me and him, okay?"

"But--"

"No, no buts. You are not to get involved, you already got involved once, and you know how that ended up. Badly, both for you and for him."

"Fine." Harry huffed, agitated that he wasn't allowed any input, "Moving on, when am I seeing you?"

"Mum could really use a break soon to be honest, as could I. Just a weekend to get away, forget things. That would be great."

"Is that because you're turning 26 soon?" Harry teased, and Gemma gasped.

"You cheeky shit, it's 23, not fucking 26!" She retorted, but this was just normal for the two. Fun banter that really meant nothing, but the fact they bonded over such simple jokes was bliss for them, "I was actually thinking, wouldn't it be awesome if we spent my birthday together this year?"

"That would be pretty cool. But I wouldn't be able to leave here probably, Louis somehow always manages to make the house even dirtier around this time of year."

"I'm presuming you mean more parties?" Gemma spoke and Harry exhaled through his nose, conveying his words, "I thought so."

"Some of his colleagues are alright I guess. Some are so rude and vulgar and, ugh."

"For someone who insists they're perfectly fine with working there, you sure do sound the complete opposite."

"Gemma, seriously, drop it- hold on a second Gem."

Harry stopped speaking when his door was rapped on three times, the hollow sound reverberating throughout his room, followed by Louis. He looked slightly calmer, and it wasn't often that he made an appearance into Harry's own personal room unless he wanted something.

"Are you busy?" Louis asked, and Harry just gestured to his phone.

"Kinda, what's wrong sir?"

"Can you go the grocery store?" He asked and Harry looked at him wide-eyed, "We're kinda out of milk." Those words made him want to vomit, it was the exact excuse he'd made to Louis to say where he'd spent his night. Of course, there was that smirk that Louis wore; he knew what he was doing.

"Sure, can I finish my call to my sister, sir?" He asked politely and Louis shrugged.

"Don't see why not." He turned to walk out of the room, but before he could Harry called him back.

"Sir?"

"Yes, Styles?"

"Are you going on any business trips soon?" Louis found amusement in this and chuckled slightly.

"Why, planning on throwing a party are we?"

"No, just my family wants to visit." Harry discarded the banter and instead posed his question.

"I'm away the 31st of November to the 1st of December, Zayn's court case has been scheduled somewhere far away in London, no where near here, and it's a two day trial and there's no point traveling back and forth to and from here both days." Louis explained, "Do with that what you will." He left, closing the door behind him, and Harry immediately put the phone back to his ear.

"Hey, sorry Gem."

"No problem, was that Louis?" She asked and Harry made a small noise in approval, "Guessed so, wouldn't mistake that voice anywhere else."

"You've only met Louis once before Gemma."

"But I'm just saying, he voice is quite... distinctive."

"Don't be a fucktard, his voice is normal." Harry defended. Gemma scoffed, and both brother and sister started to giggle at his nature to be so sheltered over Louis.

"Anyway, what did you talk about?"

"About when he's away. Does the 31st of this month to the 1st of December sound good?" He pondered and Gemma waited for a second.

"But my birthday's the 3rd, is there no way it could be the 2nd and the 3rd, or the 3rd and the 4th?" She debated, and Harry thought about it. Louis had met Gemma and Anne before, and he'd not complained or anything. Surely they would be able to stay a while longer if they kept out of Louis's way?

"How about the 31st to the 3rd?"

"A whole 4 days? Is Louis alright with that?"

"He will be, don't worry. If he's not, then that's his problem."

"What about Leo?" Oh shit, Harry had let Leo run completely out of his mind for a few seconds.

"He can come too?"

"Is Louis fine with young children?" Gemma worried continuously, and Harry wanted to reach through the phone and hug her if that was possible.

"Presuming so. If he's not, he'll have to deal with it, won't he?"

"So it's settled, me, Mum and Leo will get to Louis's house on the 31st at around..."

"About 10am." Harry finished her sentence for her.

"Okay, and then we'll leave on the 3rd at about lunch time?"

"You could stay for dinner, it'd be your birthday after all."

"If you insist."

The two continued to plan everything, and soon they began to bid farewell and then Harry was once again left alone, with only the now fading winter light to keep him company. Even though Harry really hadn't felt part of his own family for a while, Gemma managed to reassure him. And now the fact that he was going to see them in less than two weeks was daunting, yet exhilarating. 

Harry sat there and thought of all the things he missed about living at home; Mum's cooked meals, talking to Gemma about absolutely everything, the friends he made at school, watching Leo grow into a fine young man. They were all things that had been missing, but the short visit would rectify a couple of them, he hoped.

It was only after about another 15 minutes of time wasting that Harry realised that maybe now was the time to actually go and buy some milk. He wouldn't want to make Louis angry after all, would he?


	12. Chapter 12

Fingers tapped over the steering wheel as a new song rang through the speeding vehicle, the track of a tune by The Fray pumping from the speakers. Due to the lateness of the evening, there weren't many other cars on the road, only the late commuters making their ways back home to the warmth of their own bed. Harry wished that he was like them, that he was making his way back to his own room where he was safe and felt comfortable. But he wasn't, instead he was driving in the complete opposite direction to the safety and well being of his own bed.

The wheels of his car were instead traveling towards the nightmares that had been grasping onto his mind for the past week; the visions that had nestled into his skull and had refused to loosen their latch no matter what he did. Persistent and filled with the horrors that somehow, Harry had found himself almost enjoying, the journey was taking him to the house that he'd been forced out of no more than a week ago, the house that already held a ton of his secrets. Zayn's house.

Harry thought through what tonight was going to consist of; he knew that he had to do what Zayn would class as a 'good job' as if he did not, then he would only have one more chance. One more chance to keep himself to himself, one more chance to protect his whole world and keep his secret in the shadows where no one knew of them. Only one more chance to do all of that if tonight went to the dirt, and Harry was determined not to let that happen.

The days that had followed Harry's cover-up to Louis with the whole Eleanor situation had blown over considerably better than he'd anticipated. Louis had been slightly on the shady side, but then again he usually was, and this was how he'd always been. It had only been very recently that he'd began to warm up in terms of personality and persona, and the reason for that really was still unknown, but Harry went along with it. For the past few days the house had been considerably quieter, Louis only speaking to Harry to give him orders, and to be frank, Harry felt slightly upset. He'd become accustomed to the funny, cheeky side of Louis; the grumpy, grey side of him really was one that was better left in the past.

When his car pulled into the familiar road, Harry composed himself, knowing that all worries in his mind at that present moment in time needed to dissipate by the time he reached the front door of the house that he was going to be staying in for the next few hours. Luckily, when Harry did turn off the engine, he felt like a weight had lifted from his chest and shoulders, and so he turned off the ignition, doing so with a sigh. Although he had told himself that there was no way in high hell that he was going to be able to enjoy this evening, but to be honest, maybe Harry needed this as much as Zayn did.

With a face concealed behind his hoodie, Harry stepped out of the car and shut the door, the slam reverberating as the flicker of orange from the headlight signalled that the vehicle was locked. Shoving the keys into his pocket (he'd left his wallet and phone in the glove box of the car) he began his short walk towards the paved driveway that led to Zayn's house. Harry looked up with a pair of cautious eyes as he heard the front door to the white house open before he'd even managed to walk halfway up the path.

Stopping for a second, Harry took in Zayn's appearance. A white button up lay over his torso, the long sleeves rolled up messily to his elbows, a slim black tie hug loosely around his neck. His top button was undone, but in a way that made him look all the more ravishing, especially seeing as the trousers he wore were a pair of dark and slimming jeans. There was really no doubt that Zayn looked positively amazing, and although Harry wondered exactly why he seemed to be dressed up, he didn't voice the speculation.

"Nice of you to join me this evening." His voice was temptation and mystery rolled together, shoulder resting against the door frame, "Didn't think you were gonna show."

"Wouldn't want to let you down now, would I?" Harry smirked as he stood up on the small step, only centimeters from Zayn's face, "May I?" He gestured as if to ask whether or not he could come in, but his question was instantly met with something other than words.

Forcefully, by the grip that Zayn had acquired on the front of his jumper, Harry was tugged into the house, the door slamming immediately behind him. Back was pushed up against the door, Zayn's lips on his, and Harry knew that tonight's torture had already begun, not that it was going to feel much like that. Shifting sightly to move the door handle out from behind the small of his back, Harry let himself kiss back. It felt strangely wrong, and there was a certain sense of deja vu surrounding it all, but he figured it was just memories from last week coming back. As if on cue, just like he could read Harry's mind, Zayn pulled away, short of breath.

"I swear to God, one mention of your boss tonight and-"

"There won't be." Harry mumbled back.

"Good, because tonight you are all mine." Zayn traced a finger up under Harry's chin, "And do you know what I'm going to do to you?"

"No, sir."

"Aren't you going to even have a guess, pretty boy?" Zayn taunted stepping backwards, but moving his finger tip down from Harry's chin down to approximately the center point between his swallow tattoos, "I thought you had enough intelligence to even hesitate a guess. Guess I'll just have to show you, hm?"

And with that, Harry was force to move, Zayn's hand now gripped around his wrist as he was pulled to the small yet accommodating three-seater sofa that lay in the lounge, and when his back hit the plushness of it, Harry was slightly confused.

"Bedroom?" Harry managed to breathe out as Zayn instantly began to attack his jaw, hot open-mouthed dots trailed along the hard bone like structure underneath.

"Not tonight." Zayn whispered, the two words fanning across the entirety of Harry's skin, a hot flush creeping over his face.

He'd never really done anything on a sofa before, which was completely surprising seeing as he slept with people to gain a profit, but Harry was up for trying something new. Letting his hands come to slide into the back pockets of Zayn's jeans and squeezing sightly, receiving a small moan in appreciation.

Zayn managed to let his hands divert from Harry's chest to allow his adrenaline filled fingers to fumble at the button of the younger boy's jeans. After he'd pulled the zip down, a full kiss was initiated, lips locked once again, and Harry could feel himself getting harder by the minute. The feeling was even more prominent when Zayn's hips ground into his own for a first time, releasing a groan from the back of his throat that simply traveled down into Zayn's own soul. Again, the small friction between both of their pelvises was enough for Harry to just want it all, want everything Zayn was about to give him.

After they continued kissing, Zayn climbed off of Harry and set to work on removing the jeans that were almost like a second skin to him, and after a bit of a struggle and a refrained laugh from Harry, they were in a pool on the floor. Very ungracefully, Harry also managed to get out of his own jeans, and he couldn't help but look at the contained bulge that had formed in his client's boxers. Grey material strained against the large outline, and instantly Zayn had his legs either side of Harry's.

"Do you usually top or bottom?" Zayn asked nonchalantly, as if he wasn't straddling someone practically half-naked. One of his palms lay flat under the confines of Harry's hoodie and shirt, the other gripping the back of the sofa as he rolled his hips another time. Harry bit his lip, squeezing his eyes shut, composure retained. When he opened them again, Zayn was smirking, lips turned up menacingly.

"Depends." Harry feigned confidence, "What's your preference?"

"Prefer to dominant to be honest." Lips connected to jaw again, ridding Harry of the steady breathing he'd established, "Sound good to you, Styles?"

"Whatever you say." Harry almost shuddered, and the assault started once again.

Harry felt the sensation of teeth graze the sensitive patch of skin right under his jaw line, and he stiffened. It was almost certain that Zayn was leaving a mark. One that would be noticeable for a few days afterwards, and one that Louis was almost certain to notice. But this was the contract that Zayn and Harry had currently; Zayn was to do anything he liked to the innocent boy that was currently attempting to stay as pliant as possible on the sofa underneath him. That was in exchange for his dignity and secrets, of course, this wasn't something that Harry was willing to do completely free of charge.

With a hiss of what sounded like pain, Harry's back arched off of the back padding of the couch, teeth gritted. There was a faint repercussion of a chuckle that exited from Zayn's chapped lips, the vibration racing through the fine hairs that stood on end all over Harry's body. The hardness under the grey material was beginning to grow so prominent that there was no way that it was going to go unnoticed. Zayn obviously found it humorous, and so one last large roll of his hips made Harry want to lunge out and hit the man; he needed proper friction, not any of this roleplay that his client was enjoying.

"Definitely readier today, aren't you?" Zayn teased, referring to the outline of Harry's cock that was practically ready to be freed, "Or are you imagining that I'm Louis? Imagining that you're about to fuck your boss, just like you dreamt of last time?"

Harry, again, refrained himself from hitting Zayn. He knew that anything he deemed as an 'offense' would most definitely be held against him, and that was something he couldn't afford to happen. Instead. he held a steady glare, only really noticing now how cat-like Zayn's eyes seemed to be. His pupil was pretty much just a thin black line surrounded by a field of brown; a deep brown that was laced with an even darker mahogany that was then again crossed with a hint of some emotion. Harry swore that it seemed to be something like malevolence, but he didn't want to think that way.

"Not going to say anything, huh pretty boy?" Zayn sneered before letting his hand trail down, out from under Harry's clothed torso to palm the straining erection. The slight friction, even through the material of his boxers, had Harry wanting to writhe in pure ecstasy and impatience; he needed something to happen soon, it wasn't just a case of want any longer, "Fine by me, I prefer the quiet ones."

And then Harry's back was lifting from the sofa back again because there was that touch he had been craving. Zayn's hand was curled around Harry's cock, not too hard but not too limply either, and ever so slowly he shifted it from the base of Harry's pelvis to the very tip. Harry could feel himself wanting to curse and shout, but he didn't. The curse words would only prolong this foreplay that he was currently engaging in, and he didn't want that at all.

With a surprising amount of elegance and grace, Zayn moved off from Harry and knelt to the side of him. Lips worked from Harry's left earlobe, trailing a curved line down to his jaw, right where he had made what Harry had assumed to be a bruise about the size of a 50 pence piece only a few minutes ago. Again, he felt the slight tingle of teeth against his skin, the pain somewhat on a higher level, simply because Zayn was only making the mark more prominent, the bruise before it only worsening. The desire to push the annoying, and at the moment alpha, male off of his body was overwhelming his common sense, but he reduced the thoughts.

Harry decided it was his turn to do something, so with nimble fingers that had performed this routine so many times before, he pulled the black tie apart from around Zayn's neck, the knot loosening to fall onto the couch and then to slip onto the floor. Zayn didn't seem fazed, and so Harry continued to undo the translucent buttons that were hung down the length of the white shirt that Zayn was wearing. Disentangling the garment from the older boy's body, Zayn stopped to shrug off the garment, the fabric falling next to the black neck piece. Harry couldn't help but let his want to clean up take over, but Zayn then proceeded to kiss Harry breathless, so he lost track of the thought.

Zayn then reciprocated the movements that Harry had just performed, and aided Harry in the removal of his own jumper and shirt, the client so obviously wanting to see those tattoos that he'd fawned over at their last, yet brief, encounter. When the hoodie and shirt were on the floor, it was almost instantaneous, Zayn's mouth trailing over the entirety of Harry's body, moans radiating around the lounge as the feeling of lips against torso tingled throughout the younger boy.

"Zayn--" Harry panted as Zayn let his hand curve back into the lining of his boxers, fingers brushing the sensitive shaft that was almost pulsing.

"Sh," Zayn hushed the whimpers, the elastic of Harry's underwear restricting the movement he was able to induce over Harry's cock, "Lift your ass up."

The order was met with an instant response, and Harry did as he was told, shifting his hips up, just like he was rutting against the open air. As he did so, Zayn quickly pulled Harry's pants down, the swift motion a surprise and relief to Harry. The cold air seemed to envelope every single crevice of his body, including his dick that was now flat up against his lower stomach, and the torture was even worse when Zayn then proceeded to carefully twist his fingers around the end of it.

"Fuck." Was the one word that Harry breathed out, the syllable barely managing to roll off his tongue as Zayn began to move his hand slowly towards the base of Harry's pelvis, "Fucking hell."

"Is swearing really all you can do right now?" Zayn sneered, his lips turned upwards, eyes monitoring every single movement that Harry was making. Green eyes clamped shut as the boy gave a rather fast pump, unexpected and abrupt, "Come on Styles, say something."

"Shitting fuck." Zayn laughed at Harry's attempt at forming a coherent sentence, obviously enjoying the control he had over him.

"Come on, you can do better than that, can't you?"

"Shit, I--"

"You really are gagging for it, aren't you?"

"I-- God, I--"

"Slut." Is all that Zayn whispered in Harry's ear, tongue darting out to almost shyly lick the lobe, "Fucking slut, that's what you are."

"I'm not-- Shit." It really wasn't helping that Zayn's hand seemed to be quickening by the second, thumb coming to wipe over the slit at the top of Harry's dick, "Zayn, please."

"Please what?" Zayn asked, but he knew what the 'what' really meant. "What do you want Harry?"

"Just-- ah, please." The words almost seemed like an effort for him to utter, and so Harry just grabbed Zayn's shoulders and kissed him with as mush might as he could, not scared to hold back.

"Lie on your back." Zayn commanded, releasing the hard on that Harry knew definitely needed to be taken care of soon. He did as he was told, shuffling so his head lay on the arm of the chair, knees slightly bent with his feet flat on the material of the furniture, Zayn watching with an unreadable expression.

Harry screwed his eyes shut, knowing that the feeling of pleasure was completely crowding and invading everything else that was floating around in his mind. This, in respect, was just another session; Harry definitely was not meant to feel this way about the way that Zayn was touching him. The sharp sound of rustling of a packet seemed to break him out of the over thinking that he had so nearly become engaged in, and Harry looked up slowly to see that Zayn now also was completely free of clothing, his own erection upright against his abs.

In his hands, he held a silver packet, that usually, Harry was the one holding it. Usually Harry was the one that was dominant, the alpha of the session, but tonight Zayn seemed to have other plans. There was no preparation, nothing that Harry usually ensured he did for his own clients who were new to the whole experience, just the sight of Zayn lazily rolling the condom down his entire length.

"Wh-- what?" Harry stuttered as he rested his weight onto his elbows, managing to look up slightly more. He almost breathed a sigh of relief when he watched Zayn turn around and take a small bottle from the side table, it's yellow packaging familiar.

"This will be cold." The statement was blunt, but Harry appreciated the noise in the room that suddenly felt so empty. It was as if the living room had become a vacuum; void of that enmity and malice that seemed to have burned within the irises of Zayn's eyes earlier.

The sensation of such cold liquid around one of his most tender areas made Harry squirm. Within a couple of seconds, the lid to the liquid was replaced, Zayn wiping the residue on his own latex clothed length, the bottle put on the table again. A slight moment of hesitancy was held within the room, and Harry let himself fall back onto the sofa, hands gripping awkwardly onto the arm rest that his head was also nestled on.

Embarrassment flooded Harry as he realized exactly how vulnerable he was right now, completely under Zayn's control. With a pounding heart, he seemed to stop when Zayn actually managed to lean over him, pressing a tender kiss to his collar bone before stopping to do what Harry had wanted him to do for so long now.

With a suppressed whine from Harry and a low, guttural groan from Zayn, he pushed in. Each inch, even with the lubrication, was a struggle and Harry gripped the arm rest like there was no tomorrow. Finger nails showed no mercy, and with a pitiful whimper, Harry felt completely and utterly wrecked, and they'd only just begun. There was no way that he could open his eyes, there was no way that he even wanted to open his eyes, because he knew that he'd just come face to face with the brown-eyed monster that was currently inhabiting his body, quite literally.

Harry felt every single part of Zayn, and with a slight twinge of discomfort, felt another weight being slowly pressed onto his chest. Forcing himself to look, Harry saw a face full of what seemed to be pity, a frown upon what should have been flawless features, a facial expression that Harry really hadn't expected to see at all. Zayn's left hand was gripping the top of the sofa to maintain his balance, whilst the other was to the left of Harry's head, thumb only just brushing a loose curl that was seeming to protrude from Harry's head. Their chests seemed to hover merely millimeters from one another, like there was a force-field ensuring that their bare torsos did not come into contact.

"Move." Harry pleaded, referencing the fact that Zayn had stayed completely still inside of Harry, not daring to make even the smallest thrust out again. In response, Zayn did so, pairing the motion with a kiss on Harry's jawline that had Harry wanting to struggle away from it, but just drew him in even more. Letting one of his hands release the arm rest, Harry snaked his hand up to curve up around the nape of Zayn's neck, inciting him to deliver another thrust. He did so, and Harry let out a moan as their hips clapped together.

"Fuck." Now it was Zayn that seemed to be cussing, and Harry did find momentarial humour in this, though it diminished when he felt a surge of what felt like electricity crawl up his spine and pinpoint every inch of his body, "Harry--"

"Keep going." It sounded as if Harry had just run a marathon with the amount he was panting, but he encouraged the movements that Zayn was performing. He found himself referencing Zayn to a cat many times during the next few minutes; the feline-like actions very weird, yet invigorating at the same time.

It was also perplexing for the younger boy to see and experience how gentle Zayn was usually being. The previous two encounters that they'd had where Harry and Zayn had actually engaged in sex, Harry had been the one to top, the one that monopolized. It was the same with pretty much all of Harry's clients; they wanted to become something to be controlled for one night. When Harry had come to Zayn for the first night, Zayn had left him with scratches all down his back, reminders of their night for at least a week afterwards. The second time, Zayn had seemed to be even rougher, more demanding, wanting everything Harry had plus an extra 10%. But tonight, Zayn was a different person'; caring, attentive, almost... worried.

Harry was over thinking everything, every move that Zayn made was demanding to become a logical answer in Harry's brain. So he let himself become part of the rhythm again, losing himself in the whole process. This was what he had to do, this was the only way that there was any chance that Zayn would deem this evening 'acceptable'.

The only thing stopping him from fully enjoying it all was the fact that his own hard-on was being completely neglected, lying in between their bodies, the most minimal friction sometimes from Zayn;s body brushing it. When he couldn't stand the pressure within his body any longer, Harry felt himself jut upwards, cutting up against thin air. The movement startled Zayn, and he looked almost anxious that he'd done something wrong. Instead his face came to nuzzle into the crook of Harry's neck, the hand not on the back of the couch moving to graciously touch the sensitive shaft that Harry was pining attention for.

"Stop moving." Zayn ordered, but he didn't sound forceful. Harry, however, decided that it be best to do as he was told, and just let out a sigh through gritted teeth as Zayn let his hand stroke his dick.

It was also noticeable from Harry's point of view that Zayn was growing less consistent with his thrusts, and when he pounded their hips together on one rather forceful jut, he groaned. With an arched back and a cease of movement regarding his hand, Harry watched as Zayn started to grow quicker, movements stuttered and almost panicked.

"Fuck, fuck." Zayn repeated, digging harder into Harry, but not so hard that he felt like he was going to hurt the boy. Unexpectedly, his hand that was on the bridge of the sofa fell, coming to land on top of the hand that Harry was gripping the arm rest with, fingers suffocating his wrist. Harry didn't pull it out of his grasp though, it was obvious Zayn was ever so close, and he decided to just aid the boy through the pleasure that was going to course up his spine and through every nerve.

With nervous fingers, Harry used his free hand that wasn't being held down by Zayn to run up the length of the boy's back. It wasn't quite too forceful that scratch marks were bound to be left, only red lines maybe for the next hour or so. The sound that Zayn made was one of appreciation, and so Harry repeated the action, trying to desperately ignore his erection that was demanding to be attended to.

"Holy shit, Harry--" Zayn choked out as Harry applied slightly more pressure to his scratches, "You're such a-- ugh, such a bastard."

"Is that so?" Harry bit back, not really understanding where this was coming from, but he responded anyway.

All of a sudden, Zayn arched his back again, burrowing his face back into the indent of Harry's neck and groaned. Harry felt a sensation inside of him, warm and almost uncomfortable, but he knew that it was only because Zayn had reached that point. For a few seconds, he seemed to shudder, his hot breath fanning over Harry's skin, leaving raised goosebumps when the cold air flushed back again. There was no movement for a few moments, only panting from both men, and Harry knew that he had to take care of his own 'problem'.

But that was physically impossible; Zayn had literally all his weight on top of Harry, his chest rising and falling somehow and so there was not even any way that he could do anything. For another minute, Harry lay in actual agony, but he didn't speak.

"Fucking hell." Zayn whispered after a while, slowly slipping out of Harry, both of them hissing and gasping at the friction and the pain. He stood up after releasing Harry's wrist, cracking his back and taking off the latex condom before walking over to the bin, throwing the now-filled package in the bin.

Harry just sat up, almost trying to will that his erection go down. If anything, now that was over, he wanted to get home and sleep, not have Zayn 'sort him out'. With a swift grasp, he picked up his own boxers between a forefinger and thumb, standing to slip the material over his legs. With a horrific realization, Harry saw that Zayn was turning around, and so he directed his back to the boy, making sure that there was no direct eye contact from Zayn to his erection.

"Got to hand it to you, you're one hell of a good fuck." Zayn praised, and Harry tugged the boxers up over his bum, trying to casually palm his cock back into the restraints despite the fact it really did not want to be contained. With a good result, Harry then picked up his jeans, trying his best to slide them over his legs. There was still that aching everywhere, limbs, head, crotch. But he ignored them and clothed his legs, doing up his belt and zipper.

With a quick glance at Zayn, Harry saw that he too was getting dressed, yet he was going at a much slower pace. It was only now that he was pulling his own underwear up, letting the elastic waistband snap over the bottom of his abs. Harry diverted his eyes, intent on getting out of here as soon as possible, the realization that maybe Louis might see that he was gone washing over his head.

"What's got you in such a hurry?" Zayn asked, and Harry turned, looking to see that the man was now sat on the sofa in just the one article of clothing, not bothering to change even further. Harry assumed it was because he was about to go and shower up, but that could have been a long shot considering that this was Zayn he was thinking about, "Eager to leave?"

"N-no." Harry stammered, bending down to pick up his shirt, knowing that the look Zayn was pinning on him was one that showed he really wasn't fooled at all, "Of course not."

"Well, this just might be the last time you're in this house for a while, Styles." Zayn spoke, and Harry froze. What? What did that mean? Surely that wording really only meant one thing...

"I did a good job?" Harry voiced, and Zayn just smirked, the younger male pulling his shirt over his head.

"I guess you could say that." The approval was all Harry needed, and he knew that he had indeed succeeded in keeping his secret at bay. Zayn wasn't going to tell Louis, there was an almost guaranteed seal of trust; Harry had provided his end of the deal, and now Zayn just had to keep his.

"So you won't tell Louis?"

"Not unless you want me to?" Zayn bantered back, amusement projected as Harry shook his head frantically.

"Oh no, not at all, no."

"That's fine with me then, Styles."

Harry grabbed his hoodie from the floor also, not bothering to put it on. Looking around for his shoes, he saw that they were exactly where he had kicked them off in the heat of the moment, right by the front door. Zayn watched as Harry looked at a loss of what to do, did he bid his client farewell? Usually he just left without so much as a goodbye, but it seemed rude this time.

"I guess this is goodbye." Harry feigned confidence, and Zayn just stood up. Taking a couple of steps towards the slightly taller (yet younger) boy, and with an unanticipated motion, Zayn grabbed the front of his shirt.

"Just remember, I still have information on you Styles." Zayn whispered, and Harry stilled, "Just remember that."

"I thought you said that you wouldn't s--"

"And I won't say anything. Just know that if I wanted to, I could."

Harry was suddenly released from Zayn's hold, stumbling backwards slightly. Again, there were the brown eyes that he remembered; mystery filled, enigmatic, alchemistic. Hostility filled the man's posture, his arms folded over his chest so his chest tattoo was only partly showing, and Harry almost wished that there was someway he could bring back that caring and worried Zayn, the Zayn that for some inexplicable reason was so fostering that it was almost weird.

"I'll be going then." Harry whispered as he turned. With a great amount of speed, Harry put his shoes on and rushed out the door, only letting himself relax when the sound of the door was slamming behind him.

It took a few seconds for him to compose himself. Harry's breathing was sky high, and there was still that uncomfortable feeling his his pants as well as his ass, but that was expected. Shifting his hoodie from his right to his left hand, Harry started to walk out of the driveway, the dim light once again illuminating his path as it flickered in a rhythm that was painful to watch.

When Harry reached his car, he climbed in and just sighed. Everything, despite the fact he was now void of the worries that Zayn would tell Louis almost indefinitely, he could still feel that niggling point within his stomach. That realization that actually, everything could still go wrong, but he had to remain optimistic.

Gripping the steering wheel with his right hand and putting his keys in the ignition with his left, Harry knew his phone was already preset to take him home. Pulling out onto the road, he put his foot down on the pedal, tires screeching along the road and possibly waking civilians that lived in the other houses that lined the street. But Harry really didn't give a damn about that, his polite nature had been stretched enough for one night; the tight sensation in his jeans certainly showed that.

Music blared loudly, blasting an Ellie Goulding song that he wasn't too fond of. Nevertheless, Harry left it on the track as it had an upbeat tempo, and that meant that he could get lost in himself. Harry wanted to get lost, he didn't want to dwell on the facts of the night. He didn't want to dwell on all the shit that this whole 'secret life' was causing him. And he definitely didn't want to dwell on the fact that Louis may or may not be awake when he arrived home.

Instead his hand reached out to touch the dial that turned up the volume of the music, and Harry rolled the windows down, now cruising down one of the main roads. The breeze flowed through the car, the bass of the song thumping.

But all the while, as he was driving, Harry couldn't help but realise that everything seemed to be going to the shit, but there was so much to look forward to. Gemma was coming to visit with Anne and Leo, and that was something that Harry was definitely excited about. Also, there wasn't that long until Christmas; only a month, and seeing as Louis was being slightly more hospitable, maybe the holiday would be slightly more bearable than previous years.

All the good things that seemed to be so close in time flooded the car with happy vibes, but really, Harry knew that these things were still so unreachable. No matter how hard Harry tried to stay happy, there was that diminishing feeling that really, there would be a hurricane of abuse to follow. The calm before the storm.

Parking his car after the drive home, Harry immediately made a beeline to his room, relieved to see that Louis was indeed asleep. Collapsing into his chair that stood in the corner of his room, Harry told himself that he'd sit down and then get into bed in two minutes. But those two minutes never came in terms of consciousness. Instead they were filled with soft snores from the lips of the wrecked boy who held so many problems but never let them go as he slept in the chair, too exhausted to even regain a state of alert to make it to his bed.


	13. Chapter 13

Four days had passed, and yet Harry still could feel every single ache and pain that had inhabited his body the same night as his encounter with Zayn. It was as if there was a never ending torrent of harm that was embedded in his stomach and legs and arms, waiting to strike whenever he moved or even tried to do the simplest of tasks. Of course, Harry couldn't complain about it; Louis would simply ask for an explanation as to why he was whining, and that explanation would not be given, leading to suspicion.

Over the past couple of days, however, Harry had contemplated asking Louis about Gemma, Leo and Anne coming to stay. It had been nagging him that maybe it would have been better to have done it closer to the time of Gemma's call when they had arranged the details (which by now was a whole week ago) as there was a chance that Louis could say no. But Harry was determined that, even if the answer did so happen to be no, he would find a way to have them stay, or maybe even resort to visiting them back home. It was rare that he traveled back to Holmes Chapel, and when he did, it was often the less fonder memories of the place that overtook his brain.

So four days afterwards, Harry made the conclusion that he would ask Louis. There was that firm decision in his head that he would communicate with Louis, sit him down, and ask him outright whether his family could stay for the short period of time. He concluded that it was the best time to do it when Louis was eating, so Harry set a time in his mind of around midday. That was when he would ask Louis. It was such a simple question, there was no way he would back out.

But at around midday, around 11:50 in the morning, ten minutes prior to the question, Harry felt sick. Not like he was going to vomit, but sick in the sense that he could potentially cause an argument. Nevertheless, Harry made a nice lunch for Louis and called the man from the lounge to eat it.

Louis appeared in the doorway, tiredness shown on every aspect of his face. It had been like this for a while now; Louis seemed to be constantly exhausted, often finding refuge in ungracefully napping on the sofa, head bowed as soft snoring left his lips. Harry never really found the heart to wake him, instead simply wondering what was getting him so tired.

"Yes, Styles?" Louis questioned, running a small hand through his hair. He really wasn't even dressed properly, a pair of ratty trackies lined his legs while a white v neck sprawled across his torso, "What's up?"

"Just calling you in for dinner, sir." Harry replied nonchalantly as he pulled out a set of cutlery from the drawer and pushed both plate and utensils over the counter. Neatly, Louis stopped the items and hopped up onto the kitchen island, looking at the food with an almost bewildered expression.

"Wish I could cook." He mumbled and Harry laughed slightly, startling the boy who looked up from the pasta and meatballs that Harry had made, "What?"

"You can cook, I've seen you cook."

"If you mean nearly setting the kitchen on fire and creating something that not even Niall would eat, them yeah, I guess I can cook." Louis replied facetiously, eyes showing the smile that his mouth wasn't giving away.

"I bet you that you could make what I've made you for lunch with no problem, sir."

"Knowing me, I'd manage to burn the pasta."

"Sir, you can't burn pasta." Harry chuckled again, and this time, Louis seemed to let his lips curve up slightly. It really was a marvelous sight, and Harry wished he could take a photo there and then and just treasure it forever, that picture one that he could just- wait, what was he saying? Louis smiling really wasn't a big deal, why was Harry making it sound like it was? He put it down to the fact that Louis smiling was a rare occasion.

"Proves the point I can't cook, as well as the fact I also have no clue about it in general." Picking up his fork with a dainty aura surrounding the movements, Louis twirled a piece of spaghetti round the prongs and put it in his mouth. The expression he made was one that indicated satisfaction, and Harry was instantly a little more relieved. At least it made it easier for him to pose the question.

Turning round, Harry looked at the large blue bowl that the finished spaghetti and meatballs had been put in, and as if in reply to what his eyes were seeing, a low grumble resounded from his stomach. With a tentative thought, Harry decided that it was just as well that he finished off the rest of the food in the serving bowl. and so grabbed a small portion dish and spooned the remainder into it.

When Harry turned around again to grab a fork from the cutlery drawer, he stopped. Blue eyes were wide, watching, waiting. Harry made eye contact unexpectadly, and Louis suddenly looked away, and Harry could have sworn that a faint blush had risen over the older man's cheeks. He dismissed it though, knowing that it must have been a trick of the light, and Louis had just been interested in what he had been doing.

"Sir?" Harry started, knowing that getting the question out of the way was the best thing to do.

"Yes?" Louis replied, the word muffled through his mouth full of food.

"You know I asked whether you were away any time soon and you said you were going away on the 31st and the 1st for Zayn's court case?"

"Vaguely. Wasn't that like a week ago?"

"About that, yes sir."

"Why are you bringing it up again then?" Louis probed, "There's gotta be a reason you're asking."

Harry didn't know whether it was because Louis sounded slightly hostile, or that he himself was just nervous, but the dreaded outcomes came flooding back. Putting his fork down slowly, the clatter of metal and porcelain clattering together, Harry sighed and then folded his arms.

"Is there any chance that my family could come to stay for a while?" There, it was said, and Harry almost felt calmer. But there was no answer yet.

Louis surveyed the boy in front of him, narrowing his gaze slightly as he too put his cutlery down. It was obviously something that he hadn't really expected (even though Harry distinctly remembered mentioning something at the time when he had asked before) and so Louis put his elbows on the top and shrugged.

"By family, you mean your sister and mum, right?" He questioned, and Harry nodded.

"And Leo, sir."

"Leo?"

"Gemma's son, I'm not sure whether you've met him before, sir." Harry was now very worried that Louis was going to respond with something negative.

"How old is he?"

"About four, sir. I haven't seen him in over a year."

Louis retracted his elbows and just seemed to think about the whole prospect for a few moments, leaving Harry feeling slightly sick, the thoughts and apprehensions all running amuck. It was only when Louis leaned forwards, picking up the fork again and taking another mouthful of spaghetti that Harry got any conformation.

"Sounds alright, I guess. How long are they planning on staying, just the weekend?" There was the approval, the yes that Harry had yearned to hear, "Or is it longer?"

"If it's alright with you, I was thinking maybe they could stay for the following two days after too? Just that it's Gemma's birthday on the 3rd, and it would be good to spend it with her. Of course, that's only if it's alright with you, I wasn't sure whether you'd be alright with a four year old running round and-" Louis held up a hand as if to signal Harry to cease his rambling.

"It's fine, that all sounds good. I may give off a vibe that I dislike children, but it's the complete opposite if I'm honest." Louis elucidated, his tone of voice not matching his words, but it was nice to know that he was approving, "Haven't I met Gemma before? I swear I have."

"I think you may have, a couple of years back. She came by the house for an evening whilst she was in the area, sir."

"Ah yeah, that's right, I remember now. Blonde hair, right?"

Harry laughed fondly, because he knew that Gemma's hair definitely would not be that colour anymore, she was constantly dying it, "Yes, sir, that's my sister."

The two then began to finish eating, and within those minutes, there was no more talking. Instead they seemed to revel in the silence, the comforting nature of it enveloping their bodies and letting them eat in peace. The short movements of Louis standing to put his dish by the counter before then getting a glass of water processed a small aura of noise, but it wasn't enough to initiate another conversation. However, another thing was.

With a jolt, the familiar three tier ring echoed through the many rooms, making both Louis and Harry stop for a second. In both shock and bewilderment, they shared a glance that showed both had no idea why the doorbell would be ringing.

"Who the hell could that be?" Louis muttered under his breath, and immediately exited the room to go and see. Harry followed right at his heels, he too also eager to see who it was that was turning up so unexpectedly. They were never rung on by door-to-door salesmen, and although it wasn't uncommon for someone else to come to the door and attempt to get either Harry or Louis to become part of a new religion or business, it would have been deemed to cold for them to do so today.

Harry racked his brain to try and remember whether he'd taken a call on Louis's behalf and forgotten about it completely. That was completely absurd though; Louis had been up surprisingly early so anyone who had phoned today would have been picked up by Louis himself. Both of them strode down the hallway, Harry nearly outpacing Louis due to the immense difference in leg length. Tentatively, Louis reached out to grab the door handle and pulled the egress open, sighing as he recognised the person on the recipient of it.

"Eleanor, hi."

"Hello, I'm not intruding on a bad time, am I?" She looked totally and utterly frozen despite the fact that she was bundled up in six layers of clothing, "Because I can come back another time if so, I know that I didn't call but-"

"Don't be stupid, it's fine, seriously." Louis spoke, "It's as freezing as heck out there, I wouldn't deny you the warmth of this house."

"That's very kind of you, thank you." Her feet carried her into the hallway, Louis pushing the door to, the sound of the metal frame colliding with the works inside it, "Again, I'm sorry I didn't call, I just was on my way back from one of the firms after finalising the details for Zayn's court date with the court."

Harry was at a loss of what to do, and so stood there as awkward as a new kid at school on their first day. When Eleanor prised her coat off of her body, he immediately took it, smiling when Eleanor thanked him, and rushed to hang it up. When he had, Harry realised that, actually, the two had proceeded to walk into the lounge, and he saw them sat on the sofa, smiles spread across both their faces.

"Well, I've actually got to depart in about-" Louis paused to look at his watch, reading the time quickly, "gosh, only about five minutes."

"Oh, really?" Eleanor asked, and Harry also became curious. Louis didn't have any meetings today, and so unless he was going to a party, Harry couldn't think of a place he would go.

"I've scheduled a meeting with Zayn, nothing major, just final details and also travel and accommodation arrangements for the weekend. I can't believe it's only five days away." Louis explained, and now that Harry thought of it, he really couldn't believe it either. This case had been one of immense speed, Zayn had been so quickly dealt with, and now in five short days, Louis would be in court, defending his client to the best of his abilities. But that also meant that, in only five days, he'd be seeing Gemma for the first time in a year, as well as Leo and Anne.

"Oh, sounds plausible." Eleanor hummed, and almost in sync, both her and Louis looked over to Harry, who by this point was feeling slightly apprehensive. Louis was meeting with Zayn alone; there was no guarantee that Zayn wouldn't say something regarding the days prior, it was his mouth, he had the right to say whatever he wanted.

"Speaking of which, I might make tracks now." Louis excused himself with poise and manners, standing before exiting the room to grab a jacket and other essentials like keys and phone. Harry was left to stand just inside the confines of the lounge, the awkwardness of Eleanor and his silence radiating and penetrating his nerves. Louis's head popped round the doorway, eyes wide, "Be back in an hour, two hours max."

Then he was gone, letting the slam of the door leave the remaining two to simply sit and stand. Harry didn't know what to say, and he guessed it was the same with Eleanor. They hadn't seen each other in person since Harry had asked for the favour, and he was intent on that not becoming a subject. But Harry could also sense Eleanor's hesitance to leave; and stealing a glance at her, he caught a steady and very catechising gaze.

"Harry, are you alright?" Her soft voice spoke out, and he just faked a smile. No, he wasn't, but the lies were about to commence.

"Yeah, I guess."

"Harry." She repeated his name, testing him again, "Tell me the truth."

"That was the truth, I'm fine."

"Then, if you're so fine, why do you look like you could break at any moment, hm?" Eleanor's voice was calming, and Harry found himself walking to sit on the sofa next to her. He couldn't meet her eyes, instead his own were focused on the movements of his hands, wringing around one another, the rough grind of callused skin hurting him slightly.

"I'm fine." That was the answer he was intent on giving until Eleanor chose to leave, it was the only answer that he would give to any question regarding feelings and emotions.

"Can I ask you a question about something?"

"Fire away, miss." The address slipped from his tongue, but Harry didn't see whether or not she showed any discomfort at it, he still didn't want to look at her face.

"You called me the other week-" Shit, "and asked me to do you a favor, right?"

"Yeah."

"Can I ask, why did you request me to do that? Louis didn't even call me to ask whether or not-"

"Wait, he didn't call you?" Harry interrupted, genuinely surprised that Louis had trusted his word, and not just gone behind his back to see whether he was speaking sense. For the first time in a long time, Louis had actually valued something that he had said, and that was mind-blowing in itself.

"No, he didn't." She folded her arms and shuffled one of her legs onto the sofa, jeans scuffing against the material, "But I asked you a question first, Harry. Why did you have to cover up yourself?"

"I--I-"

Harry, again, was at a loss. There was nothing he could say that would cover up the whole story. But telling Eleanor the reason why would be exposing his secret, and he really wasn't prepared. But the way that Eleanor seemed to be so... worried for him was making him just want to tell her everything. For a few years, this had been his own dark shadow, the burden he carried around, something that only he knew. Would it be better if he told her? Or would it mean that Eleanor never looked at him the same way, instead just casting him away and maybe even telling Louis?

Uncertain of himself and what to do, Harry looked up, a pair of brown eyes showing that they were listening colliding with his own. He felt a sense of security, like his secret would be safe, and then that was it. It was as if the dark sided half of Harry was forcing itself out of his body, pulling at his ribs until they were at their breaking point and ready to snap, tugging his heart from its strings and demanding to be released. The half of him that had been hiding for so long was an animal, a tiger that was ready to go on a rampage and simply willing it to stop wasn't going to do a damn thing.

"I'll tell you." Harry whispered. Eleanor nodded in a covenant manner, reaching forwards. With a swift and graceful grip, her fingers gripped Harry's large wrist, reinforcing the phrase 'actions speak louder than words', "But please don-"

"Don't tell Louis?" Eleanor finished, and when Harry just stared at her she made a noise in agreement, "I promise I won't. There's a lot of things that I don't tell him, and this definitely will be added to that list."

"When I tell you, will you promise not to freak out?"

"Harry--"

"Just promise. Please." Pleading lined every word, and the woman nodded.

"I promise."

Now that he was ready to tell Eleanor, Harry really had no idea how to say it. There was no simple way to explain this; either a blunt way, or wording that would qualify as 'beating around the bush'. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and parted his lips, the brusque way the best way.

"I'm a prostitute."

Opening his eyelids, Harry wasn't startled to see that Eleanor was completely and utterly shocked. Her face had paled, resembling a ghost, and the grip that she had on Harry's hand was slowly falling looser and looser until it was completely free, limp and shell shocked. The hope that she would be understanding and supportive completely fled Harry's body and he stood up, not wanting to be sat in the same room as Eleanor at the moment, knowing her eyes were judging his every movement now.

"Harry--" Her voice cracked but Harry just shook his head, not wanting to turn around.

"Don't." Whispering, Harry was ready to walk away. Take a walk to a location of no destination, realise what he'd just done. Before he could, there was a firm tug at his wrist, one that he definitely would not have expected to come from Eleanor, "Wha--"

There was no explanation, but suddenly Harry was engulfed by arms and an overpowering scent of what resembled flowers and vanilla. A tiny profile latched to his own, more muscular one, hands folded around his back. Harry stood there, almost awkwardly, trying to process it. Eleanor was hugging him, and that was not something someone in disgust and revolt would do.

"I had no idea." Her words were muffled, spoken against Harry's chest, syllables reverberating over his chest, "I had absolutely no idea."

And then she started crying, the sobs wrecking her, sounds choked as they were uttered against Harry's torso. In an instinctive nature, Harry let himself return the embrace, rubbing a hand up and down her back in a way that tried to symbolise that this wasn't her wrong doing.

"There was no way you would have known." Harry spoke, words confident, "I didn't tell anyone."

Eleanor lifted her head, mascara slightly smudged around her eyes.

"You don't- you don't do it for... fun? You don't do it because you enjoy it, do you?" The wrong answer would have definitely resulted in her jumping away at least a foot in distance.

"No! No, no I don't." Harry murmured back, unsure of how to explain. He'd never had to talk about this all before, this topic of conversation was completely new to him.

"Then why?"

"Because I need--"

Eleanor stopped him, her eyes wide. Arms slipped from round behind the male of the room, mouth forming a shape that resembled an 'o'.

"Oh my gosh, it isn't because Louis doesn't pay you enough, is it?" Harry looked at his feet, startled that she was able to read through this all so easily, "Fucking hell, Louis is such a dick! I knew he didn't pay you enough!" Her rage was almost visible, brimming at her eyes, and Harry began to panic. She never used curse words. Never.

"Eleanor, please!"

"Please what? You're having to sell yourself because he doesn't pay you enough and I'm in a right mind to say--"

"But he doesn't know." Harry reminded her, "He doesn't know, he will never know."

"But--"

"No, Louis is never ever in my entire life plus a hundred years, going to find out. You can't say anything, you promised." His voice receded to a whisper, and soon his tears were also becoming visible. Wet trails ran down his face, coating his cheeks in a glossy hue, the light of the room shining off off them, "Please. Don't tell him." She nodded slowly in understanding, quickly hugging him again.

"I promise." It was the second time that Harry had heard that phrase exit from Eleanor's mouth, and for the second time, he believed her word.

\-------

 

The faint ring of the brass bell above the door invited Louis into the warmth of the small high street cafe, the smell of coffee and cake surrounding his senses and clouding over the worry that he'd held. A large coat engulfed his small profile, making him look like he was drowning in material, but at least it kept him warm. The November air really was bone-chilling; there was no room for under dressing in simple attire when going outside.

Louis hadn't been into this cafe before which was surprising seeing as it really was so close to home. The setup itself was very quaint; it seemed that they were aiming for a nautical theme. Pictures lined the walls, each mainly of a beach scene or maybe even an old ship, but they fit into it all perfectly. Chairs were painted white, purposely left to dry with only one coat to look worn and well used, the cushions a pinstripe blue and white. The tables were left natural, though on the top of each of them were markings and scars from the toils of their years. Scratches that previous customers had made, coffee cup stains from where the ring at the bottom had been lined with a liquid; each infliction told a story that would be hard to decipher if someone was to attempt to do so.

Perhaps the most impressive was the effort that the staff had gone to in order to make the place really seem complete. Each wore a blue apron, a white button up underneath, and each of them also sported a bandana on some part of their bodies. Everyone's seemed to be a different colour; red, brown, green, orange, teal, there really was such a variety, and they all interpreted it their own way also. Louis noticed that the majority of the girls wore them in their hair, the material folded over and placed just above their foreheads and tied at the nape of their necks. The men seemed to go for a different approach, some of them playfully tying it round their necks, some round their wrists, and Louis even saw one of them with the material around their bicep.

When he had realised that he'd been standing in the doorway for the past five minutes and blocking it for the oncoming and passing customers, Louis made his way through the maze of tables to the counter. The queue was the shortest it had been since he had arrived in the shop, though there were still at least four customers in front of Louis before he could be served. Therefore he took the opportunity to both take in the rest of the shop and it's nostalgically attractive aura, as well as keep an eye out for Zayn.

"Hello darling, what can I get ya?" A female voice startled Louis, and he turned back to a pretty face that smiled at him through a thick layer of red lipstick. She had a light blue bandana tied around her bun of hair, the colour complimenting the apron that she wiped her hands on as she waited for a reply from Louis.

"Uh, what type of tea do you serve?" Louis mustered a posh attitude as he spoke, though it really didn't sound genuine at all, just stupid. The woman, who just continued to beam, nodded and guestured to the big listings that lay behind her.

"We've got black teas, green teas, oolong teas, Earl Grey, PG Tips, you name it we probably serve it."

"Could I get a Yorkshire Tea, if you have it?" He asked politely, and she nodded once again before suddenly pointing at him.

"Hey, you're that guy that runs that fancy ass law place, aren't ya?" Her cockney accent shone through her words, and Louis just laughed casually, because that was indeed who he was, "I think I've seen your face on those massive sign things with ya fancy whistle, that is you, isn't it?" Louis again, realised, that by whistle, she meant a suit. There was really no amount of time that would allow him to adjust to the London lifestyle, it was so different to Doncaster. Plus, if you hadn't have known that 'whistle' actually meant suit, the word could have been interpreted in an entirely different way.

"Yes, that's me."

"Well then, let me get that tea asap, wouldn't want to keep a hard working guy like you waiting, eh?" The wink that followed her words was slightly off putting, but Louis shrugged them off. It was just her attempt at being friendly, and Louis sighed as she quickly bustled away to cash up the price of his tea. She was back only a few seconds later, holding out a perfectly manicured hand, nails filed to form what looked like eagles talons.

"How much?" Louis questioned.

"£1.50 please." She stated, and Louis was surprised at how little it really was for a cafe on a high street. Here in London, the cafes usually were extortionately overpriced, but this seemed to be an exception. Louis made a note to remember the location of this one.

The jingle of the loose change in his pocket showed that he did indeed have enough spare. Louis dug into the tight compartment of his jeans, the tightness of them really causing a struggle. When his small finger managed to grab a hold of the large coin that felt similar to that of a £2 piece, a figure stepped up next to him and put the right amount of money in the woman's hand.

"There's exactly £2.50 there, can I get a small bottled water for a £1 with that please?" A familiar voice rung out and Louis rolled his eyes.

"This isn't a date Zayn, you don't have to pay for me." He grumbled, the brown eyes settling on him as Louis played with a loose hanging on his thumb nail, the woman walking away to put the money in the register.

"If this was a date, I'd be enjoying it." Zayn winked and Louis felt his jaw drop slightly, leaving the other male to laugh, "Gosh Tommo, it was only a joke, sheesh. Being on a date with me wouldn't be that bad now anyway."

"Shut up." Louis spoke, thankful as the woman brought over Zayn's bottle of water.

"I'll bring the tea to whichever table you sit at, should be ready in a couple a' minutes." The gleeful tone of her voice was almost irritating, though Louis knew that she was simply doing her job, so there was no reason to voice his opinions out loud.

Zayn began to make his way through the labyrinth, Louis quickly following at his heels. Again, Louis marveled in emanating whimsical feel that the shop gave off. Couples sat and shared coffee and cake, parents struggled to keep their young children under hand as they caused a fuss, groups of teenagers sat around a table laughing and smiling, reveling in the feeling of friendship. It wasn't often that Louis felt compassionate about the surrounding of strangers (which was odd, because his whole profession was helping strangers) so this flare of humanity was weird for him.

When they reached a table that was vacant, Louis sat down in the plush seat, Zayn placing himself opposite. The brass corner inscription of their table number, that would presumably be needed if they were to order food, was faded but the number 12 still vigilantly shone through. Louis let his fingers run over it, before placing his satchel down on the floor next to him. With quick hands, he pulled out the pieces of paper that he needed to finalize with Zayn, a pen following shortly afterwards.

"You seem in a weird mood, you a'right?"

Louis looked up to meet Zayn's narrowed gaze, lips turned into a questioning line. He nodded simply, though he really wasn't; the thought of talking to Zayn about something else as well as the court case was eating his brain alive.

"Yeah, fine, great even."

"Good, wouldn't want a grumpy lawyer." He smirked, "Court case same as before?"

"Yeah, the 31st of November is when we have to be up there, but the case itself is the following day, the first of December." Louis doodled on the corner of a spare piece of lined paper in the stack, reading over the important details, "Have you made travel arrangements?"

"Not yet, but I will."

"I'm sure I could drive you if you don't have any way yet." Louis shrugged. His tea arrived at the table, the woman flashing a red-lipped grin, teeth bright white. He mumbled a thanks in reply as she left.

"If you could, that would be sick!" Zayn lent forwards. Louis scoffed at his use of words, 'sick' was such a erroneous word to use in a time like this, this was a serious conversation, "Is that alright?"

"I guess so, we can drive up there together. On the 31st I'll have to do numerous paper work and stuff, so you'll be alone but I'm guessing that's not really a problem." Louis continued, "I've booked a hotel for us too."

"Sharing a room, are we?" Zayn teased.

"With great disappointment, no we're not."

"Shame." Was all Zayn replied with. Louis took a sip of his tea, pen put down on the worn table surface, the Yorkshire tea soothing his sore throat.

"Anyway, I hope that's all alright with you, we'll be back in the evening of the first at about sixish."

"Sounds good." Zayn conceded, and Louis thought that maybe their talk had stopped. For a few moments, it did, and Louis took the opportunity to take another sip of his tea, only to choke on it when Zayn said his next words, "Hey, figured out whether you prefer fucking men or women yet?"

"Zayn!" He was startled, and put the cup down onto it's saucer, "Pipe down, will you?"

"Sorry for asking a question, god."

"It's not so much the question, just... the way you phrased it." Louis grumbled, Zayn leaning back into his chair in a mild-mannered way. The smirk on his face was uncontainable, and Louis wished he could reach across the table and smack it right off. But he couldn't he needed Zayn's help, "But anyway, about that--"

"So you do wanna talk about it. Go ahead, I'm all ears."

Louis tried not to blush, but it really was hard. There were people everywhere; hell, the table next to them was no more than a meter away and there was an elderly couple seated at it. Someone would have been easily able to overhear if they wanted to, and so Louis was slightly reserved in his speech.

"Well, uh, you know you said about... that thing?"

"You're gonna have to be more specific there, dear." The condescension was clear in his voice, the sarcasm floating into the air and bouncing off of the walls. Zayn knew exactly what Louis meant.

"Don't be a prick, I thought you wanted to help me."

"And I do." The reply was simple and left Louis rolling his eyes because, fucking hell, this side of Zayn really was shitty, wasn't it?

"For heaven's sake, the whole 'talk to me in a week if you're still undecided' thing. That specific enough for you?"

"Thank you, much better." Zayn put his hands behind his head, seeming too relaxed for a situation like this, "So yeah, you still not sure of whether you're into fucking guys."

Louis rubbed at his temple; Zayn was definitely wanting to make him look like an idiot, and it was succeeding. When the cuss word left Zayn's mouth, the young family who were situated on the table to the left of them shot them a look, the woman narrowing her eyes and seeming to be very unamused.

"Well, not really, I really don't know to be honest."

"And... what do you want me to do?"

"I thought you said you'd help?"

"Yeah, but how do you want me to help?"

"You're being idiotic now."

"Am I, really?" This was all getting too much for Louis, he was growing agitated, and he shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

"Yes, you are. Anyway, I wondered whether you'd, you know, help me see?"

"Woah, I'm not gonna sleep with you, if that's what your'e referring to." Zayn put his hands in the air mockingly before leaning his elbows on the table and putting his chin in his hands, "As much as I'd love that, I don't think Eleanor would be too pleased."

"This has nothing to do with Eleanor. Nor does it have anything to do with me sleeping with you, because that would never happen, not ever." Louis replied defiantly, the pissed off feeling seeming to drain away ever so slowly, "But when I said that, I wondered how you meant? Like, how am I meant to figure out?"

"There's ways, Louis. Your naivety just doesn't let you see them. I mean, you've slept with some of the most beuaitful women in the whole of England, right? Did you enjoy it?"

"I really don't feel comfortab--"

"Do you want my help or not?" Zayn snapped, but it was filled with a faux undertone.

"Fine, not really. Sure, it was... nice. But not great, if you get what I mean."

"I catch your drift, mate." There was a curt nod, but that was all Zayn said. Louis waited for him to say something else, but the words didn't come, just silence.

"Well?" Louis prompted and Zayn shrugged.

"Well what?"

"Are you going to help me figure this out, or just sit there and watch me?" Louis absentmindedly picked up his pen and chewed the top of it, the motion calming his stomach.

"Fine, fine, you demanding little shit." Zayn seemed to become slightly more mulled over, a glaze falling over his eyes, "If you're still undecided in four weeks time, on the 28th of December, let me know." Louis stopped eating the stationery and let his jaw hang open.

"But I thought you said-"

"I know what I said. And now, I'm telling you, if you still have doubts by the 28th, to tell me and I will arrange something."

Louis really couldn't believe it; another four weeks? This week alone had been hell, and that feeling multiplied by four was one that he did not want to experience.

"Zayn, I--"

"Quit whining, you might find that in these four weeks, you'll discover who you really are without my help."

Louis watched as what looked like a flash of panic scarred Zayn's features, and he knew that his client was having second thoughts about it all. The man stood up, hi tea unfinished (though he didn't care because Zayn had been the one to pay after all) and shoved his papers into his satchel, leaving one out within Zayn's proximity.

"That sheet of paper has everything you need to know, I'll text you the arrangements of me taking you up there." Louis said, and Zayn just stayed level-headed, that usually prominent, shit-eating grin wiped from his features, "See you later." Just as Louis pulled the shoulder strap of his bag further up, Zayn grabbed his attention.

"Louis?"

"Mhm?

"I am trying to help, you know."

Louis just nodded and walked away, relishing in the nautical atmosphere one last time. With a push, the slated wooden door was open, flushing the hot air from the vicinity of the cafe with a colder one that sent chills through customers seated closest to the door. Louis stepped out, the warmth of his coat homely and familiar. With a sigh he let his hand run over his face, the smallness of his palm and digits failing to spread over his lips, nose and eyes in one go.

There was a short walk to the car, and in a way, Louis was thankful, but not at the same time. It meant that he'd end up over analysing every word Zayn had said, seeing the emotion of panic pain his expression over and over again, wonder why Zayn had extended this deadline, and then Louis laughed in realisation. He had put a date on his sexuality. Like it was an object that would expire if not used, become old and unattractive and... null. Void. Dead.

He began to walk as fast as possible to his car, just wanting to get home and stop thinking, maybe watch some reruns of Rules Of Engagement on telly if it was playing. When he reached the vehicle, there was a fumble to find his keys, but Louis succeeded, and soon he was sat in the driver's seat.

For some reason, he couldn't start the ignition. It wasn't as if his car had stopped working, more that his hand wouldn't move to put the keys in their rightful place. Instead, Louis tipped his head back, eyes closed, the cerulean colour shut off to the rest of the world. Without really thinking, Louis brought his fist down to make contact with the steering wheel, swearing as he did so.

"Fuck!"

And for the next minute, he didn't move, the ignorant monosyllabic beep ringing through the air. People passed and peered into the car, some even stopping to see if there was anyone inside. Louis let his head drop, forehead resting against the cold wheel, hand removing itself from the horn.

For some reason, Louis Tomlinson felt broken. Like a shattered plate, an unfinished jigsaw. There were tears brimming in his eyes, and in a rash moment of decision, he rooted in his pocket for his phone, unlocking it before finding the one person that he knew he could depend on. His thumb pressed the picture of his willed recipient, and with shaky fingers, he lifted the phone to his ear. With a flash of surprise, they picked up on the second rind, their voice making Louis want to really cry until he resembled a waterfall.

"Louis, dear, is everything alright?"

"No, mum, it's not."


	14. Chapter 14

"Listen El, I really do appreciate you doing this for me."

In Harry's eyes, it was nothing a hug and a few good words couldn't fix. Water under the bridge simply. Well, maybe not exactly. The fact that he had finally revealed himself to someone other than a client was a feeling he was not able to put a name to. There were perks, yes. He actually had someone to confide in. Granted, this person was still very uneasy about the entire situation, but Harry didn't want to dwell on that too much. He definitely saw no way of any person being even remotely okay with his particular profession, besides his buyers that is.

Also, and he was not intending to be sexist, but he was kind of happy with the fact that it was a female that knew this about him. Perhaps he could trust Eleanor more. As he had noticed before, he really enjoyed Eleanor's company, be it for a meeting with Louis or simply stopping by to check up on things. If there was anyone who was genuinely concerned with his well-being, it was her. She reminded him of his sister, whom he trusted the most out of anyone in the world and was coming in a few days time. The way she carried herself with a head held high, away from all the mockery and limelight that came with her natural features and poise. Just like her sister, she grew up in a bit of a broken environment. Not that she ever spoke of it, but Eleanor's little hints about her past were ones that Harry assumed did not add up to something great. He was not one to pry, however, so time would tell if he learned something in return from her.

Harry also had difficulty trusting other men. For years now, he comes across men on a weekly basis who are willing to pay to cheat on their spouses. Now he has had women do the same, but it is not nearly as consistent. These men may follow his guidelines, but they are sleazy and disgusting, barely willing to follow through with his rules. He's lucky he is so attractive. With his rules and regulations, anyone would have dumped him and found another pawn to play. But his mother and biological father had blessed him with gorgeous natural features, from his curls to his pigeon-toed feet. All over him were perfect little imperfections that made his image. Not to mention his face was simply juvenile looking more often than not, making him all the more attractive to older men. The thought made him shiver, but who was he to argue?

"It really is no problem, Harry. Just...promise me you're careful, right?"

Then again, just because the secret was now in her mind as well, it did not mean she was completely on board. Harry really did not worry about a certain secret being spoken out loud, but the judgement that did not seem to leave her eyes left him feeling self-conscious and even more disgusting than before. It was not like she was going to change is mind, though she unconsciously wished she could. The possibilty that this would end was just not there, no matter how much both of them wanted.

"Of course. It's not like I'm letting them just do what they want. I have some guidelines, so I am able to preserve some of my dignity."

"Well that's good, I suppose. No need to have disgusting hands all over you-"

Suddenly, the sound of a key fumbling with a tumbler interrupted her motherly advises, making it difficult for the both of them to wipe the nervousness off of their faces. On other side of the door, the two had no difficulty in hearing the light cursing and key jingling that was being made. Eleanor rolled her eyes, knowing that the person was going to come in, see her there and beg her to stay longer. But after the news she had just received, she was in no mood to deal with anything of the sort.

Just as she was about to stand up, the door swings open with a force that blew the mail on the side table onto the floor. Harry looked up to see Louis stumbling in, but not in a drunken haze (thank the heavens for that). He slams his keys into the bowl on the table, not checking to see if the plaster was cracked. The door closed quickly behind him, quieting the sound of the wind outside.

Louis practically ran into the living room, wiping his nose with his sleeve in the process. He looked up for a moment, coming in complete lock with Harry. Blue and green stared into each other's, Harry took notice of the red ring surrounding the ocean irises, only complimenting the color. The tip and bottom of his nose matched as well, while the rest of his skin had paled dramatically.

But the ocean dispersed quickly when Louis took stride towards his office, his squeaking shoes leaving trails of dirt all the way to his study. The squeaking commenced when another slam of a door resounded through the entire house.

Eleanor looked between Harry and the door multiple times, attempting to put to words what she had just witnessed, though she wasn't sure what it was. Instead, she rose off of the couch, straightened her blouse and motioned for Harry to get up with her. He did as he was instructed, taking one more glance at the previously slammed door. Eleanor led him to the front door, her fingers playing with the hem of her shirt. She turned to him, revealing eyes of no longer sympathy, but complete seriousness and sincerity.

"Harry," she starts, just barely above a whisper, "you need to promise me something, and I'll promise you something in return."

He can only nod in response, absolutely terrified of her terms and conditions. If anything, Harry was tired of terms and conditions. That's all he lived by. Be it with his clients, with Louis, with his family, or even for himself. His entire life revolved around personal guidelines, and they were probably the only reason he still had any shreds of dignity left. But they were starting to feel more like restrictions than anything, coiling around his throat and tightening until there's nothing left except a withered corpse of regret and anger. Quite a life to live, but there was nothing he could really do to change that. He just keeps reminding himself that there are people worse off than he is in the world, but sometimes that's not enough.

"Please tell Louis at some point. I know you don't -look at me Harry- I know you don't think that it's the best way to do this, but it may be the only way that would force you out of this."

Harry's gaze went back to the ground, feeling a certain burning.

"You hate me, don't you?"

She lets out a less-than-subtle gasp, gripping his jaw and yanking his eyes back to hers.

"Now you listen to me right now, Harry Styles. You are a wonderful person, and I did not learn that today. I have known that since I met you a few years ago. You only think about other people, and that's something I don't see very much anymore, especially in the field that I'm in. Nobody in this cruel world has the values that you have. I mean, yeah sure, a few handfuls of people, but nobody puts others first like you do. If it wasn't for that...thing that you do, I would say that you could be a priest for God's sake. I want no more of this 'everyone hates me and nobody needs me nor appreciates my existence' thing. It's unnecessary and makes me want to tuck you into bed with teddy bear and a letting you suck your thumb. Now, I won't do that, but if you need some sort of comfort, I will be here. You have my number now, so you should not be hesitant. If I find out that things get worse here, or with your family, or maybe even with a 'client' giving you shit, I'll beat your ass before I beat whoever else is hurting you. I may be a co-worker to your boss, but I'm willing to be so much more for you. You're a special kid Harry."

Harry this time does not let the tears falling get wiped. Instead, he lets them fall. For the first time in a very long time, Harry Styles was allowing himself cry in front of someone. He was letting his shields fall. He was allowing someone else to see what he was truly feeling on the inside, not what he was showing to the naked eye. This was definitely new to him, as he felt just so weak at this very moment.

He could not help but feel like he was betraying not only himself, but his mother as well. In his growing years, he was taught to toughen out the hard times and not show weakness. Well, maybe that was more his father, but it was a parent nonetheless. Weak, you are weak, Harry Styles. Where is your strength? When did you become so soft? That is not how you were raised. You were raised to be a strong and independent individual, not to beg for mercy and sympathy from others. This is not you. This is not you.

'I will. Th-thank you, Eleanor. I promise. Just...don't feed me sympathy. I'm a grown man. I can take care of myself." He was not trying to come off as some conceited jerk, but he assumed it was the only way to get her to stop interrogating and attempting (hopelessly) to change his mind.

However, she only offers him a watery smile in response, knowing where his sudden attitude change sprung from. "I know, I know."

And after one last parting hug and a "I'm sorry" "Me too" whispered into each other's ears, Eleanor was gone and out the door, leaving with something a lot more valuable than what she had come with.

\-----

Harry gives Louis about a half an hour to calm down before even thinking about speaking to him. It was all quite strange to him. His master left in quite the chipper mood, almost sounding excited to talk to Zayn. (Which Harry did not feel that pang of jealousy arousing in his abdomen. He had some bad eggs the day before.) Then the same man comes back, but the next time with snot filled sleeves and tear stains all over his paling cheeks. Harry did not want to admit it, but there was something in the way Louis glanced at his, without even taking a slight notice in that Eleanor was sitting right next to him with her hands practically on his lap. He just looked so...broken, and that Harry's gaze was the only thing holding him together. He couldn't bring himself to look away, be it for any reason at all. 

Granted, Louis was the first to snap the gaze, storming off with a raincloud metaphorically over his head. But all in all, something had happened, and Harry did not know what it was.

Now, Harry was really contemplating this whole "comfort my boss even though he will try to get as far away from me as humanly possible" thing. He had seen Louis at bad times, but this had to be the worst. He knew something had to be done, or he would feel riddled with guilt for the rest of the day.

Picking up his feet, he nearly tip-toed his way to the mahogany door. He really did not know why he was trying to be discreet. He was only going to startle the poor man more. With a fist slightly shaking, he knocked on the door with just his index and middle finger. Surprisingly, he received not even a grunt. Nothing. Pressing his ear to the door, Harry listened to see if he could even hear Louis breathing, or maybe even still crying. It would have been a real shame to have waited this long only to find his master dead in his office. What a way to go, though.

His rather depressing (and creepy) thoughts went interrupted when the faint sound of snoring reverberated through the oak panels of the door. Harry pulled back away from the door and seemed to just stop and stare at it for a moment, contemplating what had happened. Why was there snoring, of all things, coming from Louis's office? Surely, he hadn't fallen asleep in such a short space of time? It didn't take long for Harry to then remember back to those days of the black circles under Louis's eyes and the fatigue that seemed to nestle in his irises and never leave.

With baited breath and a mind that didn't seem to want to settle, Harry let his fingers rest on the cold door handle that separated him between the image of his master that he wanted to see, to check on. Fingers gripped as he turned it down, pushing it from the latch, the loud clicking resounding through both office and hallway. Harry pushed it to, suddenly meeting a scene that almost broke his heart.

Sat in the small bay window, nested in it like a small child, was Louis. He looked positively exhausted, curled up like he was protecting himself from the outside world. This was one instance where all the vulnerability that Louis kept cooped up seemed to radiate, when he was in this state of unconsciousness the only time that his shields came down and crashed where nobody could see them. It was as if everything that he had built up over the years was now gone, showing a weak shell of his former self.

Harry must have been staring for five minutes straight, as his eyes started to hurt. It was completely foreign to him. He could have done anything he really wanted to do in the office, maybe even draw a mustache on Louis' upper lip in magic marker. Sadly, he could not quite bring himself to do it. Rather he contemplated walking any closer, fearing that he may wake the kitten-like man up. He just looked so...at peace with his feet against the sill, his knees up a few inches. His head was a bit to the side, his jawline and cheekbones even more defined in the sunlight coming from the window. His thin lips were parted slightly, even yet partially ragged breaths sounding in the deafening silence. His eyelashes (which, wow, Harry had never noticed how long they were) cast light shadows over his cheeks and the already lightening dark circles under his eyes. He looked almost ten years younger, especially in his casual attire rather than a suit.

Harry lastly noticed his petite hands. One arm was to his side, his hand just barely dangling over the hardwood floor. The muscles in his arm were relaxed, though they were still slightly prominent through his tanned skin. Harry could not help but look at him almost like a baby monkey, loose limbs folding and stretching according to his pleasure. If that wasn't a simile for the record books of strange things to call your boss, he didn't know what did.

Louis' other hand was resting on his chest, clutching something to it. From where he was stood, Harry really could not decipher exactly what the object was, and he was slightly hesitant to walk any closer, wondering if the slightest noise would alert his boss and send him into a rage because, really, was Harry allowed in here? He hadn't had permission at all, Louis had stormed in here with red eyes and tear-stained cheeks, and so that probably meant that he really hadn't wanted to be followed. But now it was half an hour after that, and so Harry deemed it all acceptable.

Treading lightly, he lifted his first foot and placed it about a meter or so in front of his current position and stepped. The large stretch produced no noise regarding creaking floorboards and Harry wanted to praise the heaven's because of the silence. Continuing closer, he did however begin to marvel again over the small figure that seemed positively adorable even though he was a grown man, jumper engulfing him like it was three sizes too big, hands curled up under the sleeves but still gripping whatever was in his clutch.

When Harry had gotten close enough (about a meter and a half away from Louis) he took a deep breath in when he saw what his master was holding. How Harry hadn't seen it before was really incomprehensible, but now that he was faced with the scene, it all started to become even clearer. Held tight under his arms, Louis was holding the mysterious folder that was really a photo album of memories. Again, the beautifully scrawled word littered the front, the cover dusty with a few finger prints dotted over it where Louis had manhandled it. However, on top, poking out from under the crossed arms of the man, was the picture that Harry had really found so beautiful and amazing; the picture of Louis and his parents.

Harry really was awe-struck at the sight of Louis; whatever had caused him to cry had obviously brought up some very raw past memories that he'd attempted to bury below the surface of his skin, and Harry felt the urge to just engulf him in a hug and find out what was wrong. But that would be inappropriate of him, Louis was his boss, not his friend. There was no need for physical contact of the sort.

Against all the judgements in his mind telling him to just wake Louis up, Harry quickly exited the study only to come back a few minutes later with a blanket. Louis looked to exhausted to wake, and so Harry decided to simply let him sleep and wake him up if he happened to still be sleeping at around 8 in the evening. With careful toes and treads again, he went to rest the blanket over Louis, the fabric enticing and soft. But then Harry stopped. The photo; did he attempt to move it? Did he leave it? Surely it must've been uncomfortable for Louis to be holding a folder whilst he slept, it would be more practical to move it.

Cautiously, Harry went to take the photo from out under Louis's arms, trying to make as little noise as possible and ensure that he didn't actually touch Louis in any way possible. Successfully, Harry managed to prise it out, holding the small portrait between a forefinger and thumb and settled it on the floor before moving to take the folder. Hesitation flooded through every sense he had, and with a rush of adrenaline, Harry gripped the folder and went to tug it gently from his bosses grip, but there was one problem.

"What the fuck!"

Harry jumped back about two foot, startled at the sudden noise. A very flustered, wide-eyed man now sat in the bay window, shock across all of his features.

"Sir, I--"

"What the hell are you doing, Styles?!" Louis demanded, looking at the blanket that lay just at his ankles before surveying that he was indeed holding a folder. Turning it over gently in his hands, Louis then seemed to go pale, all colour draining from his face. Harry felt like being sick too at that point, what was wrong? Was there something wrong?

"Sir?"

"Where is it." Louis spoke, the question phrased more as a statement. When Harry hesitated, not answering because he was confused, Louis jumped up, slamming the folder on the bench of the window and looking Harry dead in the eyes, "I said, where is it Styles?"

"Where is what? I don't understand, si--"

"The photo, the photo I was holding." Louis clarified, "Where is it? I was holding it, have you taken it?"

"N-no, sir, it's on the floor."

Harry pointed to a space just below Louis's left foot, directing his master's view range to the small picture on the floor. Louis quickly saw it and swooped down to get it, cradling the small thing in his hands as he did so. Eyes seemed to be plastered on it, and he carefully set it on top of the folder that had been so viciously slammed down only seconds earlier, Louis sighing as his actions were carried out. There was definitely something wrong.

"Sir?" Harry cautiously said, only for Louis to sit down next to the photo album, not looking up, "Are you alright?"

"Please don't." Was all Louis whispered, "Don't."

"I--"

"I said, don't."

Harry really had no idea on what to do, so he just looked sadly at his master who was sat down, mourning the picture. This had never happened before, it was like Louis had let his walls come tumbling down and was completely and totally vulnerable to anyone who saw him at the present moment. Instead of being this confident, self-righteous bastard, he was more like a small child who was attempting to try not to cry and failing badly. Harry really wasn't sure if he liked this side of Louis; it made him want to just cuddle him (secretly Harry was a massive cuddling fan) and hush him until he was assured that everything was alright and that it would all get better.

But that wasn't alright for him to do right now, it wasn't appropriate. Instead, he just surveyed the older man and went to sit in the desk chair, not wanting to leave until he knew that he was alright.

 

"You don't have to stay in here." Louis spoke up just as soon as Harry had sat down.

"I want to." Was all that was replied, and for the next few minutes, they sat in silence. Louis not moving, Harry not doing so either, both of them unsure of what would be appropriate of what to say to the other.

Instead they sat in a silence that seemed almost uncomfortable, but was also one that demanded to be unbroken, not wanting to be shattered to pieces by the simple hum of breath or speech. It was familiar to both men, silence. It was what both had been brought up in for some of their youth, held away in the encasement of it and trapped until it suffocated them. Silence had a different effect on many people; Harry and Louis were prime examples. One was loud and well spoken, the other not so much. There was one thing in common, however, and that was how their periods of silence had created secrets.

 

\-----

 

Louis had gone to bed that evening after leaving his office in an almost awkward way, slipping past a drowsy and unassuming Harry. He hadn't been hungry, and so food had not been something he'd thought about, only craving the warmth of his blankets and the softness of his mattress.

When Harry had come to his senses and found that his master had left the room, he'd naturally been curious as to where he had gone. The snoring had been a dead give away, and so Harry had put his head round the door to meet the scene that he'd encountered earlier. In a pair of sweats and an old t-shirt that had a rather peculiar bird pattern on it, Louis was curled up on top of the covers (it was a wonder how he managed to push them down in his sleep), hands under his head, lips parted and expelling air.

Bruised cheeks that seemed to permanently be stained with tears, fatigued black circles under his eyes that showed a lack of sleep even though he looked so peaceful; Louis was a mess. Harry couldn't help it, and so he walked over to go and sit on the bed next to the man, only to land on something hard in shape that felt like a book. When he drew back the covers, Harry was shocked to see that there was indeed a book there, the title one that was stuck in Harry's mind.

"The Fault In Our Stars." Harry whispered, turning it over in his hands to examine if it was actually real. Indeed it was, and was the copy that Harry had finished only recently. Quietly, he placed it on Louis's bedside table and then pulled up the covers over his body, jerking away as his master stirred slightly.

"Harry?" The voice was timid but also slightly gruff as Louis spoke, making Harry stand up so quickly that he thought he would vomit at the sheer velocity.

"Yes?" He replied, trying to sound nonchalant.

"Sorry for being horrible earlier, I didn't mean it, I was just tired."

And that was it, the sound of snoring resounding through the room and resounding off the walls, and Harry felt like maybe now was about time to start breathing again. Where the hell were all these nice apologies coming from? Ones that sounded like Louis was being genuinely sincere? It was as if they inhabited Louis when he least expected it and forced their way out of his mouth like word vomit.

Harry had once heard the saying "a drunk man's words are a sober man's thoughts" and he wondered for a moment whether that was applicable if the word drunk was replaced with something along the lines of sleepy and fatigued. It was a sheer possibility, but one that Harry hadn't really placed much thought on until now. Maybe it was true, but that would Louis had actually meant it when he had said that he thought that Harry was pretty an--

No, overthinking was killing Harry's brain more than his normal thoughts were so he stopped and rushed out of the door, slamming it behind him, hand gripping the handle. The cold press of the metal was stabbing into Harry's palm, but it was stopping him from letting everything suffocate him so he carried on. When it was obvious that there was going to be a mark engraved in the rough skin of his hand, Harry stopped and sighed, wishing that he lived a normal life. A life where everything was uncomplicated and he wasn't tied down with secrets and bullshit and lies that felt like they had two hands on his neck and were threatening to choke him until he fessed up.

Sleep wasn't something that came easily for either boy that evening; both waking up and staring at the ceiling for several hours on end, but all in all, Louis was definitely the one that got the most rest. However, the following morning when light began to filter through the blinds at a stupid hour in the morning and brush upon his eyelids.

It hadn't been the sun that had woken Louis though, oh no. It had been the sharp ringing of his mobile that was somewhere under his pillow, the vibrations running through the mattress and into his body.

"Fucking hell, fuck off." Louis grumbled to no one in paticular as the phone kept ringing, impatienty wanting to be answered, "Who the fuck calls at this time in the morning?" He asked himself as his hand finally found the mobile, and without looking at the screen, Louis pressed the accept button and put it to his ear.

"Hello, wh--"

"Louis Tomlinson, I have called you at least four times now, and yet this is the time you pick up, really?" An angry voice rang down the line and Louis was confused.

"Eleanor, is that y--"

"Yes it is me, and there is a lot that I wish I could say to you right now but I'm being loyal and not but I just want to tell you that you better pick yourself up and realise what a shit person you've been recently."

"I--"

"Don't make this about yourself and be all ego-centric, okay Louis? It's obvious that other people have problems usually, but there are people that hide their problems away from the rest of the human population and although you might not think it, it's probably worthwhile actually giving a shit once in a while and realising that those people really need support." Eleanor fumed down the line, "It's always 'me, me, me' when you're around, like you're the fucking center of the atmosphere and it would be great if you realised that that isn't actually true."

"Eleanor, just stop--" Again he was interrupted.

"No, Louis, I will not stop. I just wanted to call you and tell you that you've been a shit person lately, even more so than usual and that's a hard heat to accomplish because ever since you got rich, it's like you couldn't give a damn about anyone and that's sickening Louis, it really is. Maybe you should learn that--"

"You think I don't have problems too, Eleanor?" Louis shot back, "I have 101 problems right now that--"

"Oh here we go, Mr, Me is deciding to show up. I'm not saying you don't have problems Louis, I'm saying that maybe it'd be nice if you paid consideration to others and the things that seem to get to them, you know?"

"Are you having any problems? Is that what this is about?" Louis asked, and Eleanor sighed down the phone.

"No, for once in my life, I'm not Louis."

"Then, what the hell is this abou--"

"Just figure it out on your own, Louis. I'm sure you will eventually."

Then the conversation was over, and the tone of the line sang down the mobile. Louis let his hand uncoil from around the device and fall onto the pillow next to him.

"What the fuck, was that?" He whispered to himself before shrugging and lying back down again.

Sleep washed over Louis, and all that his dreams were filled with were weird images; a mass of people all stood in front of him, trapping him, their mouths spilling out with words that all mashed together to sound like one long drawl. If this was what it was like for people to unload their problems onto him, Louis wasn't sure he wanted to be someone's therapist.


	15. Chapter 15

Harry was in an especially good mood the morning that Gemma was designated to arrive, and it wasn't just due to the fact that he was going to see his family for the first time in what seemed like forever.

There was the constant sound of music radiating from Louis's small office all through the morning, the different music genres all blurring into one as the time flew quickly. Smallpools, Coldplay, Bastille; they had all been played, and Harry wasn't complaining one bit. In fact, at one point he found himself singing along quite loudly, propping the cushions on the sofa upright again.

"Nice singing." A laugh suddenly resounded around the room, and Harry straightened up instantly, turning to look directly at the man that was now stood in the doorway. A permanent smirk was plastered on his face, eyes still bright (the brightest they'd been in a good while), and a posture that radiated pure happiness. In his grasp, a blue and cream-striped mug was held, both palms needed to cup around it because his hands were so small.

"Oh, sir, I didn't realise, I-" Harry blushed as Louis simply tipped his head to the side in humour, still laughing slightly, "What's so funny, sir?"

"Nothing, nothing." Louis waved it off, then proceeded to walk towards the kitchen, Harry left slightly puzzled as he stood. With a shrug, he continued on with the task at hand; cleaning the whole house in the two hours that he had before Gemma arrived at half past twelve.

Bustling, singing, dusting, singing, cleaning, singing; that was the routine that Harry seemed to follow, and he was content in doing so. The cycle was only broken when Louis walked into the room, and Harry was stop his voice from flowing, and that usually meant that Louis just made a noise deep in his throat that sounded like a chuckle but kind of wasn't at the same time.

The second hour was about the time that Harry flopped back onto his bed in his room, exhausted from the extensive deep-cleanse of the room. He had decided that the sleeping arrangements were going to be as followed; his mother would sleep in his room on her own, Gemma and Leo would share the double bed in the spare room, and Harry would take the sofa in the lounge. It was the most logical thing to do, he wanted his guests to have comfortable beds and it wasn't as if the couch was completely useless to gain a few restless hours sleep on at night.

After a change of clothes, Harry traipsed downstairs and sat himself on a bar-stool in the kitchen, large hands placed palm down on the counter top. It was a weird sensation; his burning hot digits sleek against the cold granite surface, but he maintained the contact, thoughts rushing through his head. What would they get up to when Gemma was here? Could Harry take all of them into town and have a day out tomorrow? But before that, what would be happening for dinner tonight? It was all very hard to organise when Gemma wasn't here to contribute.

With a filled head, mingled ideas of destinations refusing to defog his senses, Harry almost missed the knock that resounded from the front door, the sharp ting of a doorbell following afterwards. Almost in sync with the sounds, a slightly wide-eyed Louis walked into the kitchen, the same mug from earlier dangling from his fingers.

"Who's that?" He asked, interest lining his lips, "I thought your sister wasn't due here for another half hour?"

Harry seemed to feel a wash of panic course through him; it was true, his family wasn't meant to be here for a while, but it seemed as if they already were. It wasn't as if he wasn't prepared, the beds were all made and ready for someone to sleep in straight away if they had wanted to, the lounge and kitchen were spotless, not to mention everything had been 'child-proofed' seeing as there was soon going to be a four-year-old running around causing havoc.

"I thought so too, sir."

He stood up and began to walk towards the front door, seeing through the frosted panel two shrouded figures. It was weird to think that his whole childhood stood on the other side of a piece of wood and glass, all his memories only blocked out because of a simple hinge. As soon as that door was opened, they'd come straight back. Come back into his mind and wrap around him, suffocating him until his sides were aching and he wanted out. Sometimes that was a good thing, but his family also brought dark memories for some times, and those were the memories that Harry was determined to keep at bay.

Louis followed tentatively after the younger boy, pausing in the doorway that led to the lounge so he could leave Harry some form of privacy. It was weird how Harry paused before he even placed a finger on the handle. As soon as he had, Louis watched as a small figure tumbled through the new opening, wrapping a pair of arms around the tall boy's legs. Repeated welcomes such as 'Uncle Harry!' flowed from the child's mouth, and it was probably the cutest thing Louis had seen in a while.

Diverting his attention to the other two, adult silhouettes that were lugging bags behind them, Louis was left to observe the social interaction. The first woman that entered into the house was the older of the two, and had a hair of a darker shade, almost black. Around her eyes, there was a light pink shadow, make-up that was so subtle that on a quick glance you wouldn't have noticed it. She dressed in a fairly modern style for her age (which Louis mentally slapped himself for thinking; he was taught that he should never just assume nor ask about a woman's age, only believe that she was younger than she looked), a pair of tight hugging denim jeans and a red hoodie that was baggy yet complementary. As she hugged Harry, her eyes crinkled at the edges, smiling like she'd seen all the good deeds in the world. It was necessary, Louis guessed; being parted from her son for so long obviously had affected her in a way that was inexplicable.

Then the emotion seemed to flood from the next girl, and Louis watched in awe as she flung herself at Harry, arms wrapping around her younger, yet taller brother's neck. She wasn't crying, instead laughing, and it was obvious that she really never wanted to let go of her brother in a million years. With her sand coloured hair and eyes that seemed to glisten brown, it wasn't immediately obvious that Gemma and Harry were siblings. It was only when she looked up and grinned, the resemblance hit the atmosphere like a truck; a smile that was hard to describe yet easy to picture, something that really was hard to put into words because it was so damn mesmerizing. Louis stopped himself; was he seriously saying that about Harry? No, he wasn't. He couldn't.

"Who are you?" A small voice piped up from just below Louis's peripheral vision, startling him slightly. With a glance, the man who had been attempting to stay in the shadows realised that this small boy who had attached himself to Harry's leg was now questioning him.

"Oh, hi!" Louis crouched down onto his haunches, making himself automatically more approachable to the small child who he estimated to be around five years old, "What's your name?"

"My name is Leo Styles and my mummy is called Gemma and my uncle is called Uncle Harry." With a cheeky glint, Leo pointed to the two people he had spoken of so excitedly in turn, "Can I ask your name?"

"My name is Louis."

"Do you not have a second name like me?" Leo questioned almost immediately, and Louis realised exactly why he loved kids so much; their inquisitiveness brought that pleasant feeling of nostalgia that was constantly seeping away with every day that passed.

"I do, it's Tomlinson."

"Louis Tommyinson." Leo tried the name out, mispronouncing it so much that it sounded nothing like the original, "I like that name, it's a nice name."

"Leo?" A voice asked, and Louis turned to see Harry staring down at his nephew, "Are you being a little troublemaker and getting in people's ways?"

"No Uncle Harry, I'm being friendly!" The child pronounced, holding his arms up to be picked up by his blood relative. Harry didn't look too won-over, and so glanced at Louis who was now stood at full height (which was still a good few inches shorter than Harry).

"Is he bothering you, because I--" Louis held a hand up, Leo grabbing onto Harry's leg at this point.

"I told you that I don't mind kids Harry, he's fine."

"Are you sure, sir?"

"Positive." Louis replied, and watched with delight as his employee brightened up substantially and bent down to pick up his sister's son. Immediately Leo let out a small and gleeful bubble of laughter, pawing at his uncle's face.

It was honestly so beautiful to see Harry with children; his face lit up like he was pure sunshine, his eyes radiated warmth and happiness and everything good in the world, and his.. just Harry in general was so graceful and kind and caring and yet firm at the same time and it was weird because this side of Harry was the normal Harry but there was just something there that was added and it made Louis think about everything.

"Louis?" A female voice this time broke into Louis's thoughts, and he angled both his body and head to see the older of the two women that had made their way into his house, Harry's mother, Anne.

"Anne, it's been a long time." He responded, extending his arms and walking into a hug that she was offering him. The warmth threatened to bring back memories of his own childhood and so politely and quickly Louis peeled himself from Harry's mother, "How have you been keeping?"

"Better than I have been, that can be said I guess." She sighed sadly, and it was as if in that short amount of time, every worry that she had suppressed had flooded back.

It was sad, and Anne reminded Louis of his own mother; strong-faced and willing to do any thing on the outside, but there were tumbling restraints and walls collapsing in her soul and mind, crashing around her and causing her to break-down without the knowledge of her closest friends and relatives. Louis only knew this because he often felt like that; as if he also was having the same problems. He remembered distinctively his teenage years; those moments where he felt the whole world was against him and all he wanted to do was escape to a parallel universe where he'd only be surrounded by the things and people he wanted, casting out all the problems and the stress that he was experiencing.

It was only when Louis had really experienced loneliness in his later years that he saw his childhood was nothing to compare to. Sure, at the time his young age had caused a sense of naivety and he'd felt like everything would crash down at any time, but adulthood was even worse. There was that constant feeling of pressure to get everything done, the enveloping thought that one wrong move and something would drastically collapse; Louis wondered why he'd ever raced to grow up to be honest. All those feelings were wading in again as he stood and looked at the frail picture of Anne in front of him, and with a shake of his head Louis quickly composed himself.

"I'm really sorry Anne, but I must be going."

"Where are you off to?" She sounded almost upset that her conversation companion was announcing his departure, but she offered a smile in compassionate way, "Harry didn't mention that you were going anywhere."

"I have a court case tomorrow for a client and I'm having to travel up there tonight as it is early in the morning." Louis explained and Anne nodded in acceptance of the excuse, "I will be back tomorrow evening though, and I heard you're staying until the Tuesday?"

"We are, yes, Gemma's birthday is on the 3rd and she was eager to spend it with her brother. It's weird, as children the two of them were constantly fighting and arguing, but as soon as Harry left, she became upset and didn't shut up about missing him."

"Distance does that to people I guess." Louis said, but it wasn't just a guess. He knew perfectly well the effects of time and distance.

Anne turned her head to look at her son and daughter, and so Louis followed her gaze. There was that overwhelming emotion of suppression, as well as the happy vibes of being reunited again. The way that the two interacted with each other, simply as they just stood face to face having a conversation, was encapturing. As Louis had noticed before, the smiles that they wore were so similar and lit up the corridor, the way that Leo looked from his mother to his uncle in the fashion that people watch a tennis match, the way that they looked so at ease and normal when they'd only been in each others presence for a maximum of five minutes.

"I really do have to go now." Louis announced, more to himself in order to try and pull himself from staring.

"Drive safely." Anne's words were almost whispered, and the Styles siblings looked over to where Louis stood.

"What time are you back tomorrow, sir?" Harry asked, his sister making a face at the use of the last word.

"Probably about six I think."

"Maybe we could all go out for dinner or something?" Gemma spoke up, the first time she had addressed Louis.

"That sounds lovely, Louis?" Anne interjected as the man walked over to his bag that had already been placed against the wall of the hallway. With a swift dive in the assigned bowl, he grabbed his keys, the soft chiming sound filling the thinking time.

"I'll be sure to be there." A small hand rested on the handle of the door, and with one final look, Louis caught Harry's eye. Green was flooded with words, and although he couldn't make out what the phrases were exactly, there was still an encapsulating happiness that seeped into Louis's body, "See you all tomorrow."

And then he was out the door, the click of the latch replacing into the hinge as he pushed it to and walked out into the coldness of the November air. A small sigh exited the youngest person's lips, Leo struggling to get out of his uncle's grasp. Harry obliged and placed his relative on the ground, watching as he ran off in the direction of the lounge with Anne hot on his heels.

"I can't believe you still have to call him sir." Gemma snorted.

"Fuck off." Harry muttered and followed to where his mother and nephew would be. This was only the start of the four days that were to come.

 

\----

 

Damp London air cascaded around everyone and everything as Harry and Leo walked through the small park that lay just outside of the city outskirts. Blood red streaks of sunlight ran across the sky like flicks of paint, speckled against the deep yellow sky, creating an almost orange array that one could only describe as beautiful. It was one of those moments that called to be photographed, one of those scenes that you could picture in your head a week on from when you had seen it. Spectacular.

It was obvious that December was fast approaching, the people of Britain were not afraid to hold back on bringing out the bundles of coats, hats and scarves just to take a five minute walk home. Business men were perhaps the most ignorant when it came to weather, refusing to wear anything seasonal other than a pair of gloves to accompany their steel grey suits and shiny black shoes. Harry liked it though and he really couldn't imagine living anywhere else in the country, let alone anywhere else in the world.

When he'd been in school, Harry had always imagined a life in a country such as Australia where the weather was nearly always promising, warm sun to sunbathe in almost every day of the year. But with a now expanded knowledge of the world and the social controversies and the strict policies, London seemed the easiest option, as well as the most familiar. Holmes Chapel was where he had been born, but the capital city of England was where his heart lay now.

"Uncle Harry?"

"Yes Leo?"

"When are we gonna get to the ice cream place thingy?"

Harry just sighed contentedly and shook his head, grasping onto Leo's small hand as they walked continuously down the leaf-scattered path. All the trees were bare, their leaves lining the gravel road instead, holes in their brown structures, flimsy stalks the only things holding them together. Sometimes Harry likened himself to a fallen leaf; held together by one simple line, all of his pieces threatening to break off with just one gust of wind.

"Soon buddy, soon."

"You said that five minutes ago and we're still not there Uncle Harry." Leo persisted, his love for ice cream the only thing he could think about.

It hadn't taken Leo long to remind Harry about how he'd promised a trip to get ice cream when they next saw each other, and so Gemma and Anne had ushered the two off, saying they'd watch the house for a couple of hours until uncle and nephew got back. So Harry had driven just onto the outskirts of London, about a ten minute drive and parked his car in the car park that he always parked in when he came into town, the ice cream parlor that he was so fond of only a quarter of an hour walk after that.

"Only about two more minutes, little man. And that's a promise."

"People don't keep promises though, Uncle Harry." Leo said sadly, and Harry stopped walking. With a quick crouch down to come to eye level, he frowned.

"What's wrong?"

"Mummy promised that I could get a hamster for my birthday, and then I didn't get one." Leo looked at his shoes, his annoyance cute and a relief to Harry. He'd thought that it was going to be way worse, like something to do with Chris bothering them, but it'd been an overreaction.

"I'm not sure that you'd have time to look after a hamster mate, you're at school now!" Harry attempted to rescue himself and find an excuse that Leo would believe, but the first one was evidently not enough.

"But I could look after it when I came home, and I could take it for walks and clean it and--"

"You don't take hamsters on walks, lion cub." The use of his nickname from his uncle made Leo smile, and he cocked his head to the side.

"Don't you? I thought you did."

"No buddy, you don't."

"Well hamsters are boring then, I don't want a hamster."

Satisfied with the resolution they'd reached, Harry gave Leo a hug and stood again to full height, the two carrying on the walk to their destination.

It was true that Harry had been here too many times to count; in the past, it wasn't unnatural for Louis to be called away on a business trip over a weekend and Harry would drive to the same car park and walk along the same path and then get the same flavour of ice cream and then sit in the same place in the small park outside and it was all so nice and familiar. Never had he brought anyone else though, this was his own private thing (even though it sounded insanely childish) so now that he was sharing this with Leo, it honestly felt... weird.

The small child was quick to recognize which of the three small buildings was the parlor; it was a dead give away when there was an almost comically large ice cream statue outside the front of the shop. The nostalgia of it flooded back, the scene picturesque. Tables with shade brollies sat in the fading sunlight, their red and white striped appearance cliche but perfect. The front of the shop was almost entirely windows, scenes of the inside inviting and pleasant, making anyone who walked past almost unable to carry on without entering the store. Internally yet more tables sat, colorful chairs consisting of all shades of neon against grey tables, shakers of salt and sprinkles sat upon the counter tops.

"We're here!" Leo squealed excitedly, letting go of Harry's hand to rush towards the middle building. It was almost stuck between the three, a sandwich shop to the right of the parlor, a souvenir shop to the left. A couple that were walking past looked on with smiles on their faces as Harry struggled to maintain a walk after the little boy instead of a run, pushing the ice-cream shop door open for him.

As with all parlors, there was the instant wave of a sugary smell, a small welcome bell chiming as the two new customers entered. There was that first hurdle of apprehension as the inhabitants of tables closest to the door turned and surveyed the newest entries, scanning them eagerly with narrowed eyes and a sturdy glare until they felt uneasy. That was the only bad thing about this place, and after those seconds were gone, it was an immediate change in emotions.

"There's so much ice cream, Uncle Harry!" Leo exclaimed, only for Harry to nod. Indeed, there was.

A large, very old-school ice cream counter spanned across the entirety of one wall, the flavoured tubs behind a glass encasement. There were endless tastes that one could only imagine, blends of food that didn't sound like they'd work but somehow did in a sick and twisted kind of way. Friendly-faced employees were dressed in aprons and cute hats, two ice-cream scoopers in each of their pockets. Jars of tepid and clouded water sat at each end of the counter-top for the workers to dip their utensils in when the ice cream within the tubs was getting particularly hard to scoop.

There was no queue, and Harry was thankful for that as Leo would not have conformed to the standard manners of society; 'join the back of the line'. His body was too full of excitement and anticipation for such a simple thing that he would not have even registered if several already queuing customers had been stood behind the red barring ropes. Harry knew also that it wasn't often that Leo got treats like this; Gemma was very frugal with the money that Harry provided her with, there was little to spend on luxuries, items that were not needed such as ice cream for little boys.

"Hello, what would you like darling?" A kind woman on the other side of the counter wiped her hands on her apron and looked over the glass cabinet to see Leo.

"What can I have Uncle Harry?" Leo immediately turned to his authority, and Harry almost sighed in sadness as he realised just how well-mannered the four-year-old was. Trained to ask what he was allowed, not greedy at all, and already knew of the lack of money his family possessed, "How much do I have to spend?"

Harry couldn't help but just smile at him and ruffle his hair, knowing that today was the one time that Leo was going to be allowed to go all out.

"Have whatever you want, lion cub."

"Are you sure Uncle Harry?"

"Sure as sure can be."

The pure happiness that then proceeded to radiate from the young boy was overwhelming, and he raced down a few meters to get a better look at the variety there was to choose from. At the end where they were stood, boxes and boxes of different ice creams stood, about 40 different flavours. There were the obvious ones; chocolate, vanilla, strawberry, toffee; then some of the known yet rare ones like banana, orange and clotted cream; and then the ones that only people with exceptionally vivid imaginations would make up; chilli and chocolate (Harry had never even dared to try it), carrot (who the hell made vegetable ice cream?) and peanut (it sounded alright but looked as if the tub hadn't even been touched by any customer yet) only three of them. Every time Harry was in here, he got the banana, and he swore to himself that it was the best ice cream he had ever had.

Next, only slightly further up the counter and after all the actual tubs of ice cream, were the toppings. Sprinkles of every colour sat in individual shakers, sauces that sounded absolutely mouth watering in massive containers, decorations such as sugar paper flowers and chocolate flakes also making an appearance. The array was so colourful, and it looked as if it was something out of a movie scene, like one of those old-school stores from an American chick flick where the guy and girl just so happened to bump into one another for the first time and instantly fall in love.

Lastly was Harry's favourite part; this parlour had a special machine that enabled them to put a 'core' into the ice cream. It was only if you had a small pot of ice cream instead of a cone, and they would use a 'filler' to embed a sauce of the customers choice into the middle. Harry always went for the toffee middle, it was heaven in a pot once he'd paid.

"Can I please have the maple syrup one, please?" Leo was so polite as he pointed through the glass at the light brown coloured treat. Harry made a face in disgust, putting his hand on Leo's shoulder as he did so.

"Are you sure buddy that you want that one?"

"I really like it but I don't get it much because Mummy never buys any." He explained in that cute little voice that he had, never taking his eyes off of the woman that was on standby.

"If that's what you want." Harry looked up at the woman, smiling that prize-winning grin that people knew him for, "I'll have one maple syrup and one banana please."

"Are those in cones or tubs?"

"Leo, what do you want?" The child pondered the question, eyes traveling to the three sets of model cones sat on top of the glass case, as well as the three different cups that he could choose from if a cone was not what he wanted. There was no rush at all where Leo was concerned, he felt he had all the time in the world, and for a moment, so did Harry.

"Can I please have a middle tub, please?" Again, there was that repetition of the word that he was constantly reminded to use when talking to people in situations like this, and it was awe-worthy. He was a phenomenon of his generation, unspoilt and preserved; just as any child should be.

"If that's what you want. Two of those please."

"Coming right up, sir."

Ten minutes later, the two boys were sat on a patch of grass in the small park, the autumn air cooling and chilling at the same time somehow. It was simple pleasures such as this that really made life worth living; Harry realised just how much he was grateful for some aspects of his life. Others were better off forgotten when they were not needed to be pondered over.

Watching Leo sit contentedly was something that was hard to describe also. It sounded weird for Harry to say that he enjoyed watching Leo do his own thing, but truly it was just one of those things that people wrote off as a waste of time but really was fascinating. With his facial features that mimicked his mothers in a more masculine way, it was easy to tell that Harry and Leo were also related. The dead giveaway were the eyes; both had jade green irises that, once you'd seen them for a first time, they never left your memory.

Sat with his legs crossed in his washed-out jeans that looked as if they were just about ready to be replaced, Leo watched the world go by. Idly, he scooped his maple-syrup ice cream into his mouth through aid of a red spoon that the shop had provided, most of it dripping down onto the red jumper that his mum had dressed him before she'd allowed him to go on a walk. His focus wasn't on the food at all, instead it was trained on the small play park that was situated about 50 meters away from where he and his uncle were sat. There was something bothering the child, and it was prominently outstanding so much so that Harry just couldn't ignore it.

"Buddy, is something wrong?"

"I just missed you Uncle Harry."

It wasn't the first time that Harry felt that pang in his chest, so when it hit him, it really wasn't all that unexpected. Leo's words had been so genuine, so full of truth and longing and everything that a four child shouldn't have been able to even display. The phenomenon was appearing, the ability that Leo had to think about others so selflessly, put himself into others shoes; a skill that children up to the age of seven were supposedly not meant to have developed. There was no hint at all of the egocentric side of a child that was usually so forthright, instead it was replaced with generosity and kindness and sympathy and everything that anyone anywhere would be proud to have in themselves, let alone their children.

"And I missed you too little man." Harry replied, sadly smiling.

"Mummy sometimes cries because you're not at home. Grandma says that you'll come home for good someday. She promised."

In that space and capacity of time, Harry knew that nearly every promise made to Leo had been broken. His trust was shattering, continually decieved by the ones he loved and tricked by his closest friends. It was as if he was being treated like an adult, like people were forgetting he was a naïve four year old.

"Uncle Harry?"

"Yes mate?"

"Can you make me a promise?"

Harry blinked blankly, but nodded slowly in response.

"Sure, anything."

"Can you promise me that you will come home soon. Forever?"

With a lopsided smile and a suppressed sigh, he knew what he had to say. No deception, no lies, Harry had to make this promise.

"I promise I'll come home forever when the time is right."

Leo put his ice cream pot down and shuffled along the ground towards his uncle. He thrust his hand forward, eloquently leaving his pinky finger straight as if he was waiting for something. When Harry made no move and just furrowed his eyebrows, Leo indicated for him to do the same.

"You've got to pinky promise. It means you promise that you won't break the promise, okay?"

The length of their little fingers was comical, and with a deft movement, Harry hooked his own around Leo's.

"I pinky promise, I won't break it."


	16. Chapter 16

He had no idea what it was, but Harry was sure that there was an item of a relatively painful sharpness embedded into the couch cushion that he was led on. Constantly, the shape dug into the small of his back, pricking his skin enough to be irritating, and also enough to keep him awake and away from the sleep that he needed so much. There was really no logical way that Harry was going to be able to establish a good night's sleep on the rugged surface of the sofa, so he let himself become engulfed by the night. The low hum of the television set that stood on standby reverberated from its place next to the wall mixed the weak light from the flickering lamppost flitting through the window panes overwhelmed two of the five senses that Harry had, and he felt comfort in the feeling.

Soon enough though, the ease of the loneliness was overtaken by the discomfort that came with lying on the foreign object that still had no name and refused to move out from under the cushion of the sofa, even when Harry tried his best to locate the source. The time was somewhere near to one in the morning according to the internal clock that Harry presumed in his mind, and with a sigh and an upwards push, he stood on his two bare feet.

Any chance of thinking rationally had gone down the drain the moment that Harry had hit the wall of fatigue about an hour and a half ago as he had been lying on his back in the lounge on what could only be described as the most uncomfortable thing in history. Instead, the whirring clocks that usually made up the intelligent young brain had been jammed and no longer functioned properly, clanging in attempts to continue rotating and turning but to no avail. The clustered judgement really made Harry look like a walking zombie as he shuffled his way into the kitchen, brain half-set on the objective of getting a drink.

Despite the fact that he nearly dropped the glass onto the tiled floor and also the fact that some of the water had ricocheted onto the countertop and ran down the front of the wooden cabinets and onto the ground, he had succeeded in the small task. With a rather vigorous slam of the finery back onto the counter, Harry wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, the excess residue slipping off and trailing down the length of his bare arm. Suddenly the noise of another person entering the room made him whip round, senses slightly more alert than they had been previously.

"Harry?" The usually soft voice was laced with a low growl, and the boy let his shoulders droop as the light was pushed on, revealing his mother dressed in a toweled bath robe. Usually her hair was soft and lay flat on her head without much effort, but at the present moment in time, that couldn't really have been said. Instead black tufts stuck up straight, her fringe parted to look comically like it was a pair of curtains, a few strands flowing free and curly instead of straight.

"Mum, what's wrong?" The worry in her son's voice made Anne chuckle softly, the sound perforating the night, "Have you not been sleeping? Is the bed not alright?"

"I've been sleeping fine Harry, but you obviously haven't." It had always fascinated Harry how his mother had this sense that enabled her to know the exact feelings and emotions of her children, "What's bothering you, your thoughts?"

"No, nothing like that, me and my thoughts are fine." Harry yawned, scrubbing a large hand down his face as he did so. The sound of his fingers against the scruffiness of his unshaven skin sounded weird, scratches and tugs pulling against calluses and dry digits, "It's the stupid sofa that I don't get on with."

"I would offer you a share of the bed I'm in, but you know that I sleep like a starfish." She moved gracefully past her son as he drummed his fingers on the surface to reach a clean glass from the dishwasher that was open, "Is there not any other bed in the house at all?"

"There's Louis's bed but-"

"Well then, there you go."

Harry frowned, turning to look at his mother who was stood over the sink, glass positioned under the faucet. Confusion was clear in the way that there was silence, and he knew that there was a need to question.

"I don't understand Mum."

"Just sleep there, Louis won't mind."

The idea was totally logical. That was, it was logical, to anyone that wasn't Harry.

"I can't just do that! He'll know, I'll somehow do something wrong, I don't know what but something will happen a--"

"Unless you piss the bed Harry, I doubt that Louis will even find out. Stop stressing out." Daintily she put the glass to her lips, taking a gulp of the water, "So just don't wet yourself and we'll all be alright."

Then she was gone, the glass in her hand, and Harry was left to realise that the whole Louis's bed idea wasn't half bad. Anne was right, Louis didn't even need to find out at all, there was no need. As long as he made the bed as soon as he got up, maybe changed the sheets, it would be good. Provided he didn't pee the bed.

 

\-----

 

"I don't even know how to thank you enough, seriously."

"Zayn, stop. That's at least the tenth time you've said that."

It was now about four in the afternoon, approximately an hour after Louis and Zayn's court case had come to a close. The end result had been as expected; due to Louis's intense arguing skills and backed-up points, he'd won Zayn a heck load of money. A heck load didn't even cover it actually; if he had wanted to, there was no need for Zayn to even go to work for the next five years.

"Just let me be sincere for once in my life you asshole." Zayn laughed as he peered out of the window at the passing scenery, the motorway a cruising path of tarmac that wasn't due to end any time soon. The greyness of the afternoon didn't really fit the aura of happiness that radiated the car; the emotion was crushing the air and was attempting to escape through any crack that it could. Whether it be window or door, the happiness couldn't find a way out and to be honest, that was a good thing. The 'on top of the world' feeling that both Louis and Zayn were experiencing right now was one that neither wanted to stop.

"Yeah, because using the word 'asshole' to describe your lawyer really is the most sincere thing you can do." The statement was meant to sound annoyed, but Louis honestly didn't sound it in the slightest, "You did just as well as me, without your statement you wouldn't have won."

"I'm sorry, but you're the one that put down the basics of that statement, I literally just stood there and repeated the shit that you'd written."

"One minute you're thanking me, now you're declaring that my hard work was shit?" The scoff that followed was light hearted and full of playfulness, "I find that offensive."

"Fine fine, you did a great job. Thank you." Zayn smiled to himself, then quickly perked up as an idea flew through his mind, "Hey, tell you what, let me take you out to dinner."

"You make it sound as if we're dating. Plus, I have to get home to Harry."

"Oh please, I make things sound overdramatic. You just sounded like you're married to the guy and you have to get home to a home cooked meal that he's prepared."

"Shut up." Louis mumbled, partly because he was embarrassed. That was such an absurd thing to even think about; him and Harry, married? The prospect was one of complete crap and made Louis almost laugh out loud.

He couldn't even fathom what a relationship would be like with Harry, but as the car fell silent with only the sound of the tyres spinning against the gravel road, Louis began to think about it. Imagined what it would be like to come home to a loving boyfriend that engulfed him in a hug the second he walked through the door, imagined what it would be like to be kissed by the boy that he'd allowed into his house for so long. But most of all, Louis thought about what it would be like to have Harry up against him, both of them working, pantin--

"Oi, Tomlinson, you hear what I said?"

Louis quickly dismissed the thoughts he'd been having because he definitely was not allowed to think about Harry in that way, if in any way at all. It was weird and almost felt... perverted. Yet, it was totally normal, Harry wasn't the worst looking guy out there, was he?

"No, I didn't, sorry."

"I said, why don't I take you and Harry out for dinner? Hm?" Louis shook his head, thinking the offer through.

"Harry has his family down and it's his sister's birthday on Tuesday so I said I'd go out to dinner with all of them tonight."

"I can take you all out then."

"Zayn, I--"

"Don't tell me to go shove that idea up my ass because it's a good idea and I don't have very many good ideas."

The driver of the car sighed deeply, inhaling through his nose and releasing it all through his mouth. There really was no way that Zayn was going to back out of this, he'd placed one foot across the starting line and now his head was set on course to reach the finish.

"You don't even know his family though Zayn. He has a nephew that's four, and--"

"And you presumed that I'm one of those guys who won't stand within a five meter radius of a kid who's under the age of twelve, yeah." Zayn snorted when Louis jut mumbled, "You're wrong, I don't mind kids. I would've thought you would have been the one to be fucking disgusted by them."

"Well you thought incorrectly. I'm gonna have to call Harry to ask him if it's alright though." Louis reached forwards and started to play around with the various buttons, watching the small screen to see when he landed on Harry's name (it actually read 'Styles' but Louis was growing less and less fond of that nickname). After he had found it, the call button was pressed quickly, and the monotone buzz of the line ringing filled the air.

"Hello?" Immediately the gruff tone that Louis knew well reverberated through the vehicle, and he couldn't help but smile at the familiarity of it.

"Hey Harry, it's Louis."

"And Zayn!" Zayn called through the car, only making Louis roll his eyes. The man acted like a five year old sometimes.

"Oh, hi sir, is everything alright?" It was clear that Harry was worried, and he had a good reason to be. Louis hardy ever called him, only in times of emergencies or when he was extremely drunk and didn't have clear control of what was actually processing in his brain, "Did something go wrong with the case?"

"No no no, nothing went wrong, and nothing else is wrong either, it's fine Harry. We won the case." Louis addressed, watching in his line of sight as Zayn almost laughed at the level of tension that had replaced the beaming happiness, "I was just calling to see whether tonight is still alright?"

"You mean Gemma's meal? That's still all on, if you're going to be okay to come that is?" Harry definitely sounded like he was about to shit a ton of bricks on the other end of the line, the shakiness in his voice seemed to teeter until it was unbalanced and ready to plunge right off of the side of a cliff that had no known height.

"I'm fine, we agreed on me being there, didn't we?" Louis smiled as Harry made a noise in approval, "But there is one thing--"

"Basically meal's on me, and that's an order." Zayn interrupted, shuffling in his seat slightly as he spoke, "Well, that wasn't really an order, but I'm taking you and your family and Lou here out for a meal and no one is allowed to tell me otherwise."

"Lou?" Louis questioned.

"From that whole spiel, that was seriously all you fucking picked up? The use of a nickname?" The passenger of the car scoffed, and there was a faint chuckle that sang through the line from Harry's phone, "Naive little shit you are." 

"Are you sure? I do have a four year old nephew and--"

"What is with this whole 'oh Zayn's a narcissistic, vainglorious asshole and so therefore he must have an overwhelming disdain for any child that doesn't reach the height of his waist' crap, huh?" It wasn't clear for a few seconds whether or not Zayn was being serious, so Louis waited for a chuckle from his client before engaging in the humorous statement, "But seriously, I don't get it. Probably all of that shitty vibe thing that people assume I give off. I've been told by a few guys that 'my aura is all wrong'. Bullshit."

"I think you have a lovely aura Zayn, even if it is the aura of immodesty." Louis bantered, diverting his gaze from the road for only a second, "Anyway, Harry, I'll make sure to be home soon, I'll be back in about half an hour now instead of six, okay?"

"That's fine, sir." The formal name made Louis snap back to reality, made him realise that it wasn't just a mate that he was chatting to, it was someone who he had complete control over. Once, that thought would have excited Louis, but now it made him feel almost... selfish. And ignorant. And like a complete dick.

"Harry?" Louis interrupted before anyone could say anything else.

"Yes, sir?"

"Please, don't call me sir anymore."

Zayn seemed to stop breathing as the car pulled off at a junction, the engine thudding as the speed of the vehicle decresed at a rapid pace. No words were said from either end of the line and the silence was ironically deafening. It was something that Louis hated; silence, that was. Unable to bear it any longer, he got ready to say something, only for the gravel tone to utter down the line.

"Okay..."

The one word was conformation, and an imaginary weight lifted from the atmosphere, no longer pressing down on the inhabitants of the car. Zayn's breathing returned to normal, shudders of air ventilated from the lips that were usually so active and loud, and Louis was thankful.

"Louis."

That was all both Zayn and Louis heard before the line went dead, and it was weird. Weird in more than one respect; firstly because, who the hell took that long to finish a two word sentence (two words didn't really even qualify as a sentence anyway, it was more of a phrase) and secondly, just hearing Harry say his name with that tone that he so effortlessly scraped from his throat shouldn't have been something that got Louis all flustered. But it had, and there was no denying it.

But it was also weird for Harry too, and for a moment he stood with the phone in his hand, a clear name titled at the top of the screen. 'Louis'. Sure, it said his actual name, and before it hadn't bothered Harry to occasionally refer to Louis as Louis, but now that it was the only option? It was weird.. yet good. Definitely good.

"Haz? Harry?" Gemma stood in front of her brother, her eyes trained on his face to detect any sense of movement, "For the love of god, Harry what's wrong!" With a swift click of her fingers directly next to his ear, Harry came to his senses and looked positively confused about everything.

"Huh?"

"What's up? Who was that?"

"Louis." Harry spoke blankly, not really looking at anything, "It was Louis."

"And..." Gemma pressed.

"And what?"

"And why are you acting like you've just discovered a new way to destroy the entire human race? It's weird, stop it."

"He told me to stop calling him sir." Suddenly, his sister's facial expression changed completely, a smirk taking over her features, "Now you're acting weird, please don't smile at me like that. Why are you smiling?"

"No reason, no reason." She muttered, but then patted Harry shoulder a couple of times, the smile not fading, "Just, I'm happy you're getting somewhere."

"Getting somewhere?... I don't quite unders--"

"You'll find out soon enough."

"What the fuck is that--"

"Harry, language." Anne scolded as she walked into the room, Leo following soon afterwards. On his face, he wore a proud smile, though there was no reason for the happiness. Anyone else would have suspected that the young child had done something naughty that was worthy of a punishment, but from previous knowledge, Harry knew it was how Leo always smiled.

"Oh, Gemma, I forgot to say, someone else is coming along for dinner." Harry explained as his sister walked over to her son and picked him up. Almost immediately she held him on her hip, true-mother style, the multitasking duty ready. She raised an eyebrow at the new information she had received, an almost worried look on her face.

"Do I know this 'someone else'?" She annunciated, Leo giggling as she bopped him up and down.

"It's Louis's client, his name's Zayn, he's..." Harry searched for the correct word to use, "nice."

"Nice? I that the only word you can use?"

"He's quite outspoken--" Gemma looked unimpressed, "No no, he's honestly really nice! He just... has trouble knowing when to stop."

"Does he really have to come?" The question seemed to be driven from a motherly instinct, that cliché voice starting to take over, the one that all mum's used when they were worried about something.

"He didn't really leave another option, Gem. Plus, he's paying. and I guess he is nice to talk to."

"Ugh, fine." She rolled her eyes at her own decisions, Leo gurgling weirdly as his mother went to put him back down on the floor, "He better not be one of those sexual predators that find literally any excuse to chat up anyone female within a ten yard circumference."

"Oh, trust me, you won't be having that problem." Harry muttered as he walked away, up to his room to go and get ready.

 

\-----

 

Almost exactly half an hour later, both Zayn and Louis pulled up onto the drive way, hungry for any type of food. There hadn't been any need for Zayn to drop by at his house to pick up any 'dressing up' wear; he and Louis hadn't gotten changed after their court case so they were both still in their suits.

It was obvious that winter was approaching quickly, London was preparing for the cold onslaught. To Louis, it honestly felt like it couldn't get any colder than it already was, but he was aware of how the British weather worked. One minute, it was lovely and warm, the sun making an appearance maybe. Next, it would be chucking it down with hail and sleet, the icy spears penetrating any bare skin that someone out in the open was baring. You had to be clever to live in England, and by clever, it meant you had to be prepared for almost any type of weather at almost any time of the year.

"Zayn, stop pretending to be a dragon and get inside." Louis shouted from where he was stood outside the front door, his eyes following the 20 year old who was in the process of hollowing out his cheeks and blowing out all the warm air, causing small puffs of water vapour to swirl around him as he laughed.

"Calm the fuck down, old man. Sheesh." Zayn exclaimed as he trawled onwards towards the doorway. When Louis didn't open the door, he looked utterly confused, and searched his lawyer's face for any clue to why he wasn't allowing him into the warm hearth of the house, "What's up? What's with the shitty expression?"

"That, you need to stop cussing. There's a four-year-old in this house and I'm sure that Harry's sister wouldn't be too thrilled to know that her son knew all the words in the dictionary of swearing."

"Right, firstly, what the fuc--" A sharp gaze was shot at him by Louis and he rolled his eyes, "what the hell is 'cussing' because I'm sure no person uses that in their vocabulary ever. Secondly. there is no 'swearing dictionary', you learn all of those words in the native homeland that is known as high school, okay? Not sure if you're familiar with that place, they don't usually let posh twats in."

"I swear to g--"

"And thirdly, you sound like you're on your period, so reign it in and get on with it instead of sounding like your're on your rag. It's a kid, and I'm an adult, I'm not a child molester. Or did you assume that all gay guys are one of them?"

"No, I--" Louis wasn't sure if Zayn was joking or not, it was always hard to tell with his shaded eyes and his weird sense of humour.

"Because if you did, I guess that makes you a child molester too, eh?"

The door was opened by Zayn, and he walked in casually like he owned the place. Louis followed quickly, watching with a look of horror as a small face popped around the doorway to the lounge, their mouth surprised to see yet another new face. The caution in the young boy's steps were ones that an ordinary four-year-old wouldn't normally possess, but with a tender step, Leo came into full view of the two men that were now fully in the house.

"Mummy, there's someone at the door." The young boy called, his mother quickly rushing to see what her child was doing. She relaxed when she saw that it was only Louis and the person that Harry had been addressing earlier, her posture loosening dramatically as she walked towards them. Leo followed quickly, eager to greet them.

"So, how was it?" Gemma asked politely as she gave Louis a hug that was way overdue, "I didn't really get time to talk to you yesterday, it was all very rushed, so sorry."

"Don't apologise," Louis shook his head, throwing his keys in the bowl that they belonged in on the hall table, "And the case was good, we won it."

"Oh congratulations, Harry didn't mention that earlier." Gemma smiled politely, and it was only now that Louis realised that she was in a short dress that looked utterly stunning. The hem fell to about mid thigh, and it was a tight-fitting one that hugged the curves that many girls would have loved to have. Her hair fell naturally; in a straight-ish manner, unlike her brother's that could only be described as an unruly mess. Her attention turned to the other man that was lurking in the shadows, his head slightly hung down as he didn't concentrate, "I don't think we've met before."

"We haven't, name's Zayn." Zayn extended a hand in a very graceful manner, "And what would your name be?"

"Gemma, I'm Harry's sister."

"Ah yes, I see it. You look kinda like him."

"How lovely, I dreamt of the day that I'd be able to be compared to a six foot two lanky animal of a sibling." She laughed, and Louis was amazed. The shift in Zayn's character had changed so much that it was astounding; no more than three minutes ago he'd been spitting out profanities like they were the only words he was capable of using. Now? Now he was engaging in a polite social conversation that would have been worthy at a high tea.

"Louis Tommyinson?" A sweet voice sang from somewhere close to the floor, and Louis looked down to see the beaming grin of Leo. His hair was plastered to his forehead, his fringe almost too long and got in the way of his eyes. On his jumper were several splodges of miscellaneous liquids and Louis just ignored them. Instead he crouched down to come eye to eye with the boy.

"Yes Leo?" The smile that the grown-man wore was one that didn't often appear yet had had crept onto his face, teeth bared in a way that shouldn't have been described as cute yet still was, "What would you like?"

"I was just going to ask where you were last night." Leo questioned, his hands playing with a fray at the knee of his jeans, "I didn't see you and asked Uncle Harry but he just said something that I didn't understand."

"Well, little man, I was in a hotel because I had to go to this place called court." Louis tried to explain as best he could for the child that was 18 years his youth, "I went with this man here that's talking to your mummy."

"Who is that man? He's..." Leo paused as his small eyes darted over the new person, "scary."

"His name is Zayn, he's not scary at all, I promise. He's really nice." The timidness was abnormal to hear in the child's voice, Louis had put him down to be one of those kids who was constantly fearless with not a care in the world.

"Promise, like a pinky promise?" Leo thrust his hand forward, his littlest finger stuck up as the other four digits were clenched in a fist shape. Louis nodded, then hooked his own little finger round the boy's, the tiny motion one that held so much importance to Leo's trust.

"Well, someone sure scrubs up nice, don't they?" Louis listened as Zayn almost sneered, both his and Gemma's eyes focused on the figure that had just come from down the stairs. Leo had also been listening, and turned to look who it was, his legs rushing to greet the person when he recognised them. As of that moment, Louis hadn't quite focused his attention on the man, but when he lifted his gaze and stood up to full height, he stopped. Froze. Deadlocked.

If you had only quickly looked, you wouldn't have realised who the person in a full suit who looked slightly bashful to be the centre of attention actually was. Louis had to blink a couple of times in order for his brain to process the information, because quite frankly, it was amazing how Harry had changed so much with the simple change of dress. There were two types of change; good change and bad change. And this change, this near-transformation? It was definitely a fucking amazingly good change in Louis's eyes.

People always said that simplicity was beauty, and it was certainly true as Harry stood at the end of the hallway, his nervous stance a give-away that normally he was not the one to be stood in the limelight and now that he was, he had no clue on what to do. The suit itself was rather normal looking; a black fabric that you would expect someone to find at the back of their wardrobe and chuck on if they had been invited to an event last minute. This one, however, seemed to be slim cut, fitted to kinda hug the lean figure that Harry possessed. At every slight angular change that was normal in a boy of Harry's weight and height, the suit flowed with it, extenuating his tall torso and equally long legs.

It wasn't weird for Louis to be reminded of a fawn as he gazed upon the boy that inhabited his house and cleaned it for him as well. His doe-like features stood out rather spectacularly, exceptionally beautiful. Never had Louis found himself describing a man as beautiful, but there was a first time for everything, and he realised that now was that first time. His sexuality questions that had arisen were slowly all folding into one piece of paper, and that was confusing for Louis who felt that he was really as straight as straight did come. Confusing that Harry would be the one to awaken him from that state of mind and guide him onto another path that seemed to be more... 'him'.

"Subtle Tomlinson." Zayn muttered in his ear, making Louis jump, his head turned to glare at the man who wore a smirk upon his chapped lips, "Don't pretend you weren't staring, you were."

"I-I-- fuck off Zayn." Louis spat.

"And you were the one telling me to mind my language? Hypocrite much?" He jeered before walking off towards the direction that Gemma had supposedly left, not that Louis had seen her go. He'd been too busy staring to see.

"Si-- Louis?" The low monotonous voice spoke, and Louis turned again to see the pair of green eyes that he often had dreams about. The pair of sparkling eyes and often accompanied a matching smile, Harry.

"Yes?" Louis choked out, the syllable catching in his throat as it made its way from his voice box.

"Are you alright? You look a bit pale." Harry was actually aware of why he'd gone so pale, it wasn't hard to realise that Louis had been gawking at him for a good few minutes.

Usually staring like that had made him uncomfortable and to be honest, the watching gaze of Zayn had made him want to rip at his skin and disappear into an oblivion where he would go unnoticed and unwatched, but Louis had been different. Louis had been tentative with his focus, careful almost. It was a weird way to describe staring, but it was really the only way that the moments prior could be summed up. Careful. It was comforting in a way, as well as totally hot for Harry.

Louis obviously hadn't gotten changed after coming out of Zayn's tribunal; the suit that he wore was evidence enough. Although he had previously been wearing a tie, it was now gone, his top three buttons undone to reveal a portion of his chest that glistened brown. It was common knowledge that Louis's job required him to wear a suit often too, but up until now, it hadn't really been a priority of Harry's to take a lot of notice. Usually he was busy cleaning and all Louis did was announce he was going as soon as the door slammed shut behind him, so it wasn't that often that Harry got to look his boss up and down, not that that was advised for any boss. 

But the task of not taking in Louis' appearance was a rather arduous task to accomplish, and soon Harry found himself doing what Louis had been doing previously, and so stopped himself. However, he hadn't been quick enough for someone not to notice, and met Louis's eyes only to see a gleam in them.

"Are you alright? You look a bit pale." Louis mocked, and all Harry did was smile faintly. Banter was really not something that he thought was appropriate to correspond with right now, not when Louis had only recently put his trust in him to change the way in which he viewed him. Although it seemed like one of these schemes that were often heard in the workplace, something along the lines of 'firstly I'm a friend, then I'm your boss', Harry couldn't help but feel like there was an underlying meaning behind it all. 

 

\-----

 

It was busy, as you would expect a restaurant to be on a Sunday evening. The small, yet posh, joint that Zayn had commanded Louis to drive to (Anne, Gemma and Leo had followed behind in their car, meaning Harry had had to endure a very awkward car journey) was filled with mainly couples that were dressed up smartly. The group of six fit in perfectly with the bustle of it all; the women in colourful dresses mingled around filling the room with rainbows, the men were all (nearly all anyway) dressed up in smart suits and waistcoats and ties and the few children that were there were carefully dressed in their best clothes. It was weird to feel so at home in a place that the majority of them had never been before. 

The ordering process, of course, had been one that had had the capability to infuriate the waiter so much that he had made sure that someone had taken over for him instead of having to deliver the food too. Obviously, even though they did feel at home, Harry knew they didn't really fit in here. Nevertheless, he made the most of it, and ensured that Gemma constantly wore a smile on her face as this was her birthday meal.

He knew that he should have been desperately hungry, but Harry really didn't feel it. His stomach was churning and there was that constant sensation of nausea, and the truth behind that feeling was the person that he had been placed opposite. The person that had inhabited the bad dreams he had been having, the brown eyes and the dark hair and a menacing smile that paired with an equally menacing personality. 

"Eh, what's up with you, pretty boy?" Zayn sneered as he swallowed a mouthful of chicken, Harry shuddering at the use of the nickname, "You look completely wrecked."

"Probably because I am." He mumbled almost incoherently as he mushed a pea under his fork, the green purée pressing up against the prongs, "Why do you care anyways?"

"Enough with the 'Zayn's a selfish egotist that doesn't give two craps about anything but his motorbike' shit and tell me what's really wrong." Harry shook his head, another pea crushed against the harsh metallic cutlery, "Or are you honestly just tired, because that's some bullshit if--"

"Would you stop swearing?" Harry hissed, meeting his conversation partner's eyes gratingly as he motioned to the small boy diagonally opposite to him who seemed way too preoccupied with the swirls of ketchup on his plate than listening to anything anyone else was saying apart from his grandmother's, "I don't want Le--"

"I've already had that maternal talk with Louis thanks, don't need it again." He held his hands up in ersatz surrender before picking up his knife and fork again. 

The two sat in quiet again, the sound of the restaurant taking over. Louis and Gemma were at the other end of the table, talking intently about something that seemed to be growing in interest as the minutes passed by. The table had three seats either side, and it puzzled Harry why he and Zayn had been isolated and kept away from the rest of the conversation. Zayn had been seated next to Leo, and the two had engaged in a friendly bout of small talk about Leo's love for lions at the start of the meal, but as soon as the older participant of the conversation had mentioned how cheetahs were his favourite big cat, he'd been dismissed quickly from any talking and Leo and transferred to talking to his grandmother about why ketchup was red and not green. Therefore, Harry was next to his mother, and opposite his worst nightmare. 

"They're getting on well down there." Zayn pointed out, and Harry looked to see his sister and boss laughing yet again at something, possibly a joke or maybe even a story. He hoped it wasn't one about himself; his childhood analogies were ones that definitely didn't need to be brought up again. Gemma brought it upon herself to always tell the one where Harry had pooed behind a pair of floor-length curtains at the young age of three, and every single recipient of the story found it hilarious. Yeah, that one certainly did not need to be spoken of aloud until the day that he died, especially not to Louis. 

"I guess." Harry said low and inarticulately, only for Zayn to snort in a fashion that seemed dismissive and as if he was talking complete bullshit. With a dramatised drop of his fork onto the fine china plate, Harry stared Zayn out, lips pressed together as Anne took a look at them briefly, her attention quickly diverted to Leo who now wore half of his dinner down the front of the small toddler's waistcoat he had on, "Okay, what the hell is your problem?"

"My problem? Bit funny considering that you're the one avoiding the questions that I'm asking you. Seriously, why are you being so underhanded, it's weird."

"I just... you, it's just awkward to be sat opposite you after, well, you know. The thing." Zayn cocked an eyebrow as he took another mouthful of food, chewing deliberately slowly as he studied Harry's face in mock confusion, "Don't be an idiot, you know what I'm talking about. Don't give me that look."

"What look? I'm just amused that you find it awkward, that's all." That was it, Harry felt like slapping Zayn round the face, but the psychological restraints that held him in his place stopped him from doing just that, "It's only uncomfortable if you make it like that, that's what I always got told."

"I can't help it, okay?" Harry shrugged, picking up his fork again and took a mouthful of some undamaged peas, "Please, just stop talking about it."

"Fine, fine. Just know that I'm over it. You should be too by now." Zayn spoke confidently, and Harry returned to his business, but watched as Harry just stirred his peas around the plate again and again, "Okay now you're bugging me, just stop fucking moping or tell me what's got you so menstrual."

"You're so annoying."

"Persistence is key." Zayn smiled, "Now spill."

"I guess I'm just worried." Harry confided, but then rethought this through. Was Zayn the best person to be telling? "I don't even know why I'm talking to you about this, it's fine."

"No no pretty boy, you can't just do that, alright? The rule is, once you start telling someone something, you're not allowed to stop because that makes you a pussy and you're not one of those."

"As I said before, you're so annoying." Harry rolled his eyes but then sighed deeply to himself.

What was there really to lose? Zayn would be around for a little while yet; everyone thought that as soon as the court case was over and done with, they could run away with their earnings and never have to talk to their lawyer for the rest of their life if they didn't want to. Maybe that happened in some places, but with Louis's firm, that certainly wasn't what occurred. There was a lot of paperwork to do, including the transfers of money, the agreements and administration forms, it all had to be done. If they wanted also, the clients could join a course that enabled them to learn how to manage their finances if they had gained large winnings of money for a small and extra cost.

"It's a personality trait of mine, some people describe it as enthralling." His tone held no derision, yet his face showed what was lacking in his words, "We're getting off topic now, tell me why you're worried."

"I just, I guess it's selfish of me to say really. Do I have to tell you?"

"Selfishness is good sometimes, trust me. Spill."

"Do I--"

"I swear--"

"Fine, I'm worried that Gemma will become close to Louis and just ignore me the whole time she's here. That good enough for you?" Harry grumbled, line of sight fixed on the remainder of his main course before he turned slightly to look at his sister and boss. Of course, right on cue, they both burst into a fit of laughter, making Harry want to curl up into a ball and become forgotten.

"Okay, you're a douche bag." Zayn spoke with a complete sense of gravity, "You seriously think that your sister cares more about making friends than seeing you?"

"Well, I--" Harry gave up and took a sip of his drink as Zayn just crossed his arms over his chest, "I don't know."

"Exactly why you're a douche bag. It's not even like you have to be worried that he might become your brother-in-law seeing as he's gay and h--" Harry choked on his mouthful of water, the liquid vigorously wanting to rise up his throat again,. but Zayn just narrowed his eyes, "What? What's wrong?"

"What did you just say?" Harry demanded.

"That you're a douche bag?"

"No, after that, the thing about Louis?"

Awakening hit Zayn head-on, and suddenly he drew a breath as he realised what he'd just done. 

"Oh shit, you didn't know."

"Would I have choked on my water if I had known?" Harry hissed in a hushed whisper, not wanting to attract any attention. It was growing increasingly difficult, Leo was now occupying himself by playing with a paper napkin and Anne looked as if she was looking for something to do, meaning her eyes occasionally darted over in the direction of her son, "How do you know? Wait, do you know for certain?"

"Excuse yourself from the table." Zayn spoke lowly yet Harry looked puzzled. When the order was not complied with, Zayn quickly looked across to Anne and caught her eye, "If you do excuse me, I'm just going to head to the bathroom." His lean legs stood up and very discreetly, Zayn whispered into Harry's ear as he passed, "Follow me now or I will personally kill you."

Without a word of warning, Harry raced to stand also, avoiding the glare that his mother was giving him and concatenated Zayn's footsteps with his own, not meeting the gaze of anyone. The twists and turns of the restaurant tables had Harry's head spinning, but he figured it was also because he probably just received the biggest news in his entire life. Surely that wasn't right? It couldn't be right, he'd actually seen with his own two eyes the effort that Louis made to try and get Eleanor to stay the night. Hell, Harry had even accidentally walked into the room once when Louis had had brought a woman home, and to this day the image of his boss doing unspeakable things had never left his mind. They were women, if Louis was gay it meant he liked men. There was absolutely no way that that was true, Zayn had something wrong here.

Both the boys stepped into the restrooms, and after Zayn had hastily checked if there was anyone else in here (they'd had to wait for an elderly gentleman in a metallic grey ensemble to leave) before locking the door. Immediately, the elder of the two turned on his heel, his eyes menacing and full of secrets.

"How is that even possible? Louis isn't gay, he can't be gay, he c--" Suddenly Harry's voice was cut off as Zayn grabbed the end of the thin black tie he was wearing and tugged their faces close together.

"Okay, listen here pretty boy. I fucked up and I shouldn't have told you that, alright? You can't tell him that you know, because then I will be skinned alive and as much as I know you'd love that, I don't really want to be used as a human house mat." Zayn spat, releasing the grip he had obtained on the item of clothing around Harry's neck.

"But you can't just assume something like that, it's--"

"You don't listen at all. For fuck's sake, Louis told me. He actually physically told me that he's as bent as a roundabout, de acuerdo?" Harry frowned when the words last used by his counterpart were hard to decipher, "It's Spanish for okay you dumbass."

"I don't- I just- it's hard to comprehend." Harry admitted as he let his body rest against the wash basins, the hard granite painful in the small of his back. It reminded him of the sofa that he had slept on for the first part of the night before moving into Louis's bed, "I just didn't realise. Are you sure, like for definite? Like he's not even just bi-sexual?"

"Let's put it this way, shall we? At the court case, me and Louis went for a quick drink afterwards and stuff, and some woman came up to him when we were at our table. She was actually, no exaggeration, all over him pretty much. Boobs and everything, and you know what Louis did?" Zayn waited for a response, and Harry realised that it hadn't been a rhetorical question.

"What did he do?" Harry was surprised that his voice sounded tender and quiet, not like he had intended it to sound.

"Nothing. He just sat there. When the woman looked fed up, Louis told her to go away. Then he was back to being all happy and stuff. Like nothing had happened at all, it was weird." Zayn admitted, "I mean, she was pretty hot, and that's coming from me."

They stood in silence because the words that Harry had wanted to say and ask couldn't find a way out. They lay embedded in his throat, sharp daggers of glass that refused to become dislodged, jagged memories that didn't seem to want to leave.

"Isn't it a relief for you?" Zayn asked.

"I don't understand what you mean."

"Do you ever understand anything?" When Harry just continued to stare like a rabbit in the headlights, Zayn continued, "It's kinda obvious you like him so--"

"Woah, what?" Harry half-shouted, "Where did that come from?"

"Oh please, don't bullshit me. Need I remind you of the time that I was pretty much groping you and you said his name?" Harry's face flushed suddenly, "Yeah that's exactly what I thought."

"T-that was an accident."

"Sure, because when I'm having sex with someone, sometimes I accidentally scream out my mum's name instead."

"That is nothing like what happened to me, and you know it." Harry pointed a threatening finger at Zayn, only for the male to laugh.

"Fine, it's not my business whether you like your boss or not--"

"Which I don't." Harry reminded him.

"Of course, but if you did, then I guess it's less of a problem now that you know he bats for the same team as you."

"Don't say it like that." Harry shook his head as he looked away, "Please, don't say it like that."

"I'll leave you be then. Don't want to look too suspicious going back to the table at the same time, do we?"

And then he was gone, the click of the door being unlocked and his body following soon afterwards. Harry was monumentally stunned. Louis had actually denied the opportunity to flirt with a female, told Zayn that he was gay? It was all so overwhelming, and yet again the rugged fragments scratched his oesophagus with every gulp of air that he mustered into his lungs. It wasn't true, it couldn't be true. Harry refused to believe that it was legitimate, that the new information he'd been told was authentic. There was no way it could.

But for some reason, Harry wanted it to be. He wanted it to be true.

**Author's Note:**

> So yeah, hi. This is our first work on AO3 so please bear with us. We hope that we do end up pleasing at least some of you, as we see that we have some incredible writers to compete with. Not that we're actually competing, or going against any- I...yeah. 
> 
> Maybe you'll end up liking it, who knows. There is a lot more to come and hopefully you'll be happy.
> 
> Also, the chapters will get longer, I promise.


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